Blood On Her Lips
by gothamcitysyren
Summary: Savannah Syren moved to Detroit with boyfriend Dick Grayson under an alias in an attempt to escape her dark past in Gotham City. Protecting a runaway teen, joining a team of young heroes, and reliving a revenge plot weren't apart of the plan. Not until Rachel Roth landed in an interrogation room. • Season 1 •
1. Black Bird

_**IT WAS MIDNIGHT**_ _. There was no clock—I just knew. I could feel it in the tension of the night breeze, its cool temperature causing my bare arms to break out in bumps. Damp grass numbed my toes as my feet pattered across the lawn of the cemetery._

 _A voice in the dark corners of my mind was questioning me. It wondered just where I was going. I wondered that, too. But somehow, I knew. Somehow, I felt that I was getting closer. A fog was rolling in when I finally saw it—a withered barn at the back of the cemetery._

 _It came into my sight, and suddenly I was standing several feet behind myself. I watched myself continue on in the dark without concern from beside the final row of headstones. But I could see clearly from here that the woman I watched was in fact not me._

 _She had black hair, wearing a white nightgown that hugged her thin frame, and she was much taller than I was. The voice in my mind spoke to me again, louder than before. I could feel its whispers physically pulling my head down and to the right._

 _It was aiming my sight to something new—a headstone at my side. The words etched deep into the slab of concrete were painfully familiar. AGATHA SYREN. My mother. A black bird sat atop the headstone. Its beady, black eyes stared at me as it fidgeted._

 _Within them, I began to see. And in a numbing shot of cold through my muscles, I began to realize the point of it all. I was waking up. My mind was regaining conscious thought._

 _Without my direction, my head moved back to its righted position. The woman I had been watching was no longer in my sight. She was nowhere to be seen. As I squinted, I could see that the barn door was open now. It was nauseatingly clear to me just what was happening._

 _I screamed, "Mom!"_

 _And suddenly I was running, my feet pounding the wet grass as my run turned into a desperate sprint. My chest was heaving and my lungs burned. The sound of my heart beating against my rib cage thrummed in my ears, deafening me._

 _I reached the barn. My feet carried me inside the rickety building and the chilling of my blood caused my immediate stand-still. The woman was lying face down atop the old straw that covered the floor. Somehow I could see it in the darkness, as though it were not truly in the middle of the night._

 _A light from somewhere above my head illuminated it all. Slowly, I took steps toward her. Hand prints smeared the back of her nightgown with crimson blood, her once clean hair now matted and strewn._

 _My body was trembling violently when I reached her side. I knelt beside her, and I reached out to move the hair from the side of her face. As I pushed it back, her face was visible, her open eyes staring into me with an expression of pure terror._

I lurched upright with a terrified scream, groping the couch cushions for something to hold onto—for something to bring me back to reality. My heartbeat was still thrumming loud in my ears. I was breathing so hard, so fast, that I thought I might pass out.

But I didn't. My gaze swept over the apartment, eyes widened as I tried to tell myself where I was. I had done it again. I'd fallen asleep for too long. I knew better than to sleep at all, but somehow I'd let myself drift off—and I stayed there past my welcome.

Over the drumming in my ears, I heard an alarmed but faint, "Savannah?"

It came from the bedroom, I knew. My screaming had woken Dick up. I turned to look at the bedroom doorway at the sound of a quick shuffle. In less than a second, Dick appeared in the doorway. His hair was disheveled, pants barely all the way up on his hips.

He'd gotten up in a hurry, and it was not surprising. Despite it being the middle of the night, he looked wide awake and fully alert, visibly breathing faster than he should be. I felt an immediate pang of guilt hit my chest at the sight of him.

Dick's wild eyes quickly scanned the apartment before his head snapped in my direction, gaze landing on me at the couch. "Are you okay?" he asked, taking steps toward me. "What happened?"

"I'm so sorry. It was just a...it was a nightmare."

He sat in front of me on the couch, "When was the last time you had one that bad?"

"I don't know...a year, maybe? But this was different. I saw my mom. I _was_ her, for a second," I spoke slowly, my mind not quite caught up with my body just yet. There was a moment of pause. I knew Dick was speaking, but I couldn't hear him.

I was too focused on my own train of thought. Focused on the image of my mother's lifeless, terror-filled eyes staring up at me from her bloodied body. It was all I could see. I was thrusted from the depths of my mind when something touched my hand.

My eyes shot down to my lap, where both hands laid, to find that Dick's hand now covered mine. I hadn't realized my hands were trembling until he was holding one still. "Hey, Anna, I'm here," he spoke softly, gently to me. "You're okay now. It's over."

"I need to go."

I'd spoken without much thought, abruptly pushing myself up to my feet from off the couch. I grabbed my jacket off the armrest of the couch and shoved my hands through the arm holes, pulling the fabric over my shoulders.

"Go? Go where?" Dick questioned, confused and concerned.

He stood, angling himself in front of me as if to block me from leaving the apartment. Dick knew better than anyone how I got when something like this happened. It started with a nightmare. Soon followed a late night walk.

During my walk, I would find a body. It was a simple routine that was all too familiar for both of us. Letting my hands fall to my sides, I finally met his gaze, "I just need to get out."

"It's two o'clock in the morning," he reminded me.

"And I need some air. I'll be back before you leave for work. I promise."

Closing the space between us, I rose up on my toes, gripping his shoulder in order to pull him down far enough to kiss his cheek. Then I skirted around him and headed to the apartment door.

Once I was outside the building, the cool night air splashed my face, sending a chill across my body. I buttoned my jacket up to my neck and pulled my mp3 player from my pocket. Maybe listening to music would help calm me down?

That was the hope, however unreachable it seemed at the time. I shoved the ear buds into my ears and turned on the player. It started playing Chopin's Nocturne no. 2 op. 9. My feet carried me down the street and around the corner as I listened.

Something about piano always eased my aggravated nerves. I didn't know quite what. But it always made me think of my mother, how my father had said she used to play the grand piano we kept in one of our sitting rooms.

It's still there—long after she'd last set foot in the house. I tried to combine the version of her i'd seen in my nightmare with the memories I had of that piano, tried to picture her playing it. I never knew her. At least, not in the way normal kids know their mothers.

Children know their mothers in the sound of her voice when she says 'i love you', how safe it feels when she hugs them. From day one a mother and her child have an unbreakable bond.

My mother and I didn't have the chance to form that kind of bond. Or any bond, at all. She was dead before I was crawling. My father never told me many details of her passing, but he always made up for it in the details he'd share of her life.

That was how I knew my mother—in details, memories, heartfelt stories. I knew her in pictures on the mantle, and that extra stocking we hung for her every year at Christmas. I knew her in the emptiness.

The song in my ears shifted, becoming quieter for a moment, before resuming its pace. It caused me a second of questioning, but it had gone too fast for me to truly notice. I was too deep in thought. Then, it happened again.

With the second time, it sound like a faint echo, lasting longer than the first. I pulled my mp3 player from my jacket pocket and pressed the center button to wake it. It would not light up the screen. Almost as if the player was off.

My eyebrows drew together in confusion, mere seconds before the music changed altogether in its quiet volume and echo-like reverberation. It sounded whimsical, childlike, but also dark and deranged. Something twinged in my stomach at the sound of applause.

The sudden change caused my head to snap up, my feet to halt in their places, and my eyes rounded as I realized I was no longer on the streets of Detroit. A bright sign lit up three words that made my heart stop— _The Flying Graysons_.

It was clear where I was due to my surroundings. I was at a circus. The sign only confirmed my worst fear. An odd sound caused me to tilt my head back, glancing upward. High up above were three people on the trapeze.

Two adults and one child. They flew through the air, flipping from bar to bar, with each other and alone in different impossible stunts. I began to shake my head, shuffling backward in slow steps.

"No...no, I don't want to see this!" I shouted, to whoever would listen.

This story was bad enough secondhand. I did not wish to see the full tragedy with my own two eyes. It wasn't until years after I'd met Dick that my father told me how he'd almost taken me to the circus that day, the day Dick lost his family.

My father ended up canceling at the last minute and instead left me home while he went back to the office. Knowing what I know now, I was glad that I stayed home in the end.

As I backpedaled, my heel bumped something hard. Whatever it was let out a hellish shrieking sound, causing me to lurch forward in surprise, twisting to see what it was. There was a black bird standing on the ground, tucking its wings back against its sides from nearly being stepped on.

Its beady eyes bore into my wide irises as it looked up at me, and I knew—it was the same bird. The black bird flapped its wings roughly before leaping up into the air, flying right in front of my face and over the top of my head.

I ducked to miss it. When I righted myself, I was forced to squint against a sudden light. A streetlight. Quickly, my eyes searched my surroundings as my veins flooded with adrenaline. There were buildings, roads, streetlights and the occasional vehicle passing by.

It was clear I was back in Detroit. But my chest still heaved from the rush of yet another nightmare. This time, I wasn't even asleep. I was wide awake, and that's what terrified me. It brought bumps to my clothed skin and an anxiety to my body.

Both of them felt so real. Both of them contained a black bird. What that meant for me, I did not know. I contemplated it on my trek back to Dick's apartment, but nothing came of it. I was only more confused than before.

None of it made sense due the randomness alone. What I'd seen tonight had nothing to do with people living, or people recently dead—it was all about people who had died many years ago.

I climbed the stairs of the building and let myself back into the apartment. Dick was asleep on the couch, slumped against the armrest like he'd fallen asleep waiting up for me. It wouldn't surprise me if he had. He'd done it before.

But that didn't stop me from feeling bad about it. Unlike me, Dick needed his sleep. Whenever he let me into his apartment, he didn't get any. The thought crossed my mind that maybe he should stop letting me in. That would certainly solve the problem.

That was unlikely to happen, though, so I ignored the thought as I crossed the threshold. I unbuttoned my jacket and draped it over the back of the couch. Carefully as not to wake him, I lowered myself onto the couch cushion, folding my left leg beneath me.

The youthfulness of his face made him look so peaceful when he slept. I exhaled deeply, trying to calm myself as I propped my elbow against the back of the couch, leaning my left temple against my knuckles. It'd been a long night. A night that was almost over.

A faint cyan was beginning to glow through the dirty windows of the apartment. I was not at all looking forward to my day job. Working in an office was never something I wanted, but it was something I agreed to out of necessity.

After a few moments of sitting, i went to the bedroom and pulled the blanket off the bed, then carried it back to the couch. I gently draped it over Dick's body before sitting back down in my place on the cushion.

It never bothered me—sitting in silence with nothing to do. My muscles never had a severe enough itch to move to be bothered by sitting still. I resumed my position against the back of the couch, angled toward Dick.

Watching him sleep was enough to pass the time. It wouldn't be long before the alarm would blare anyway. Looking at him made me think of what i'd seen—also, what i'd _almost_ seen. Absentmindedly, I reached out and brushed his hair aside from his forehead.

It was then that the alarm started screaming in the bedroom, echoing out across the apartment. Dick stirred, "Remind me to reset that alarm clock."

He mumbled the words, gripping the blanket tight as he curled into the couch. Gliding my fingers through the hair at the back of his head, I sighed lightly. "I'll make breakfast while you get dressed," I spoke quietly, leaning forward to prop my chin on his shoulder.

"When did you get in?" Dick lifted his head, twisting a little to see me with his tired eyes.

I sat back a little, "Around four, i think."

"You've been sitting here watching me sleep for _two hours_?"

"Yeah. You get this crease in your forehead, and then the drooling starts-"

"Alright," Dick smiled, pushing the blanket off his torso as he sat up. "I'm gonna hit the shower. Have to wash off all that drool."

I chuckled a little as he pushed himself up off the couch, stretching as he took his first few steps toward the bedroom. Even just resting on that couch made my muscles stiff—I could only imagine how it felt to have slept there for hours.

That thought brought back the night's events in full color, right to the front of my mind, rather quickly. For a moment, it didn't bother me. It was like it had never happened. But when it shot back into my consciousness it brought with it the anxiety and unrest.

Already I could feel my lungs start to work just a little harder as I inhaled and exhaled faster with the memories in sight. Deep in thought, I hadn't noticed Dick was walking back toward the couch. Not until he leaned down and caught my lips with his own, snapping me back to reality.

I was a little surprised by the interruption of thought but I didn't mind it. He pulled away from me before I could truly reciprocate the action. Though, he did linger closely for a moment, before tilting his head with a smirk, "You could join me."

For a split second, I'd had no idea what on Earth he was talking about. Then it dawned on me that he had originally gone to take a shower and that this random phrase was an invite to shower _with_ him.

Smiling a little, I placed my hand on the side of his face, swiping the pad of my thumb over his bottom lip. "Next time, Boy Wonder," I told him. "Someone has to make breakfast."

I could've told him, I suppose, that really I only needed room to think. I needed room to process what had happened, what I'd seen, and I couldn't focus on that while getting intimate with Dick. Or, vise versa, I couldn't be intimate with Dick having all this on my mind.

It would be unfair. He didn't seem bothered by my decline—he simply gave my lips another peck before walking back into the bedroom. As soon as he was gone, I felt myself almost completely deflate, my features slacking.

My mind was pulling me back to my previous thoughts, analyzing every second of my visions. I was trying to mentally pick it all apart. If one thing was clear from both visions, it was that the black bird had more to do with it than I'd originally gave credit for.

That much was shown in the role it played. Showing me my mother's name to wake me up, standing behind me at the circus—and something within its beady eyes said it wasn't my mind speaking to me in the visions, either.

* * *

The plan was to be at Dick's apartment at no later than nine pm. But, considering Dick wasn't even there when I arrived, it was alright that I was drastically late. I knew he was working late at the precinct—it wasn't uncommon for him to do so.

So I used my spare key to get in and sat around on the couch for a while. A while turned into a seemingly unending waiting period. I knew then that he wasn't working. I couldn't blame him, considering I wasn't late from being at the office either.

Knowing he was out and about as Robin hadn't made me feel safer for a long time. He hadn't put on the suit in over a year. Now he was out doing God knows what, and it worried me greatly. I knew he wasn't going to die. But I wasn't comfortable with him being hurt in any way.

These late night escapades usually ended in someone bleeding, being horrendously bruised, broken in two places, or all three at once. Being all hell was unleashed upon my life, he would come to my room at the estate when something like that happened.

Sometimes I was already asleep. So, instead of having to be woken to let him in, I'd left my balcony door unlatched. He'd slip into my bed beside me without a word—and he never needed to say anything for me to know what had happened.

Last night, I'd slipped out of my work clothes and put on one of his shirts, and climbed into his bed as though I might actually sleep. It calmed to me to be surrounded by his scent as though he were there.

I was fully awake as the sound of the door opening mixed with the alarm beside the bed. Immediately, I was on my feet, and I pattered out of the bedroom. Dick still at the table with his back to me, taking off his suit.

Loosely wrapping my arms around my torso, I took steps toward him. "You went out last night," I stated, as I came to stand at the side of the table.

"So did you," he replied, laying the chest piece on the table top.

There was a hint of bitterness in his words I hadn't quite expected. As more of the upper part of his suit came off, and his bare chest was clearly visible, the more I began to see the damaged from the night before.

A large bruise was forming on his left bicep and another as equally large on his chest. They looked painful, but I knew he wasn't bothered. Pulling myself up atop the table, I said, "At least _I'm_ not covered in bruises."

At that, he pursed his lips and sighed heavily through his nose. "What _did_ you get up to last night?" he questioned. Adding a little more bitterness, he continued, "You told me you were at the office."

"Funny, you told me the same thing."

"You know it's different."

"Right. Because not kicking any ass for over a year and then suddenly jumping back into it without warning is alright as long as it's you— _your_ work is important," I tilted my head, expression narrowed.

Finally, he looked away from his suit parts, turning his head to give me an angered glare. We'd had this conversation before. If I went out—specifically, went out _alone_ —someone was bound to end up dead. So, logically, there was an unspoken rule that stated I was not supposed to do that.

Dick could handle himself. He could kill if necessary. When I did it, there was a different kind of dark negativity attached to it that he'd created years ago. It forced me into a box of can's and cannot's, onto a tight rope of control.

"We both know you walk out that door specifically to kill people," he told me, staring me down with a hot intensity. "There's no one in trouble—it's just your own blood lust that needs satisfying."

"What did I get up to last night? Hm, maybe stopping a rapist? You know, before he could _rape_ someone. And he's not _dead_ , you fucking asshole."

I pushed myself off of the table, heading for the bedroom as soon as my feet touched the floor. He didn't bother speaking up and trying to smooth things over. He simply let me walk away. But that was Dick. He'd learned to give me space—even when I didn't truly need it.

My clothes were still folded up on the bed where'd I left them the night before. It was funny to think of how worried I'd been, how uneasy I'd felt, only for him to get home and not want to look at me.

Once I'd changed back into my clothes, I slid Beverly's glasses on from my purse and exited the bedroom. Dick was washing something in the sink. The smell of blood filled my nostrils as I got closer so I didn't bother asking.

As I got to the door, the water shut off. "Savannah," it was Dick's voice, not far behind me. With a heavy exhale, I turned around to face him. He still stood at the sink, eyeing me in indecision, before drying his hands and walking toward me. "Don't leave yet."

"Well, i'm sorry I missed the invitation to breakfast in your insult," I replied, dryly.

He gave me a look, coming to stand just in front of me, "You know I want you to stay."

"Maybe it feels good to hear you say it."

"Stay," gently, his fingers plucked the glasses from my face. "Please."

After breakfast at Dick's, I returned home to my own apartment. It was a somewhat small living space but I found it to be much more comfortable than my childhood home. I'd lived in a tiny cell in Arkham, and I hadn't quite felt comfortable in a small space until I moved in here.

Cerberus, the speckled cat that arrived at my window every night, was pawing at the glass as I walked through the front door. I locked up the door and quickly crossed the threshold to the window in the living room. "Sorry, little guy," I apologized, unlatching the window. "Forgot to leave this open."

My hand pushed the window up, and the opening allowed for not only the cat's entrance but also a cool morning breeze. It dusted over my skin, leaving bumps in its wake, and my mind once again found the memories from two nights ago.

Mother's death, the circus accident, the black bird—it all meant something. The timing of it meant something. I just didn't know what. Cerberus shook after hopping into my living room and then pattered toward the tiny kitchen.

I'd left the cat food dish on the counter, filled with his food, but I hadn't put it outside for him. He trotted into the kitchen, disappearing behind the island, then reappeared as he popped onto the counter by his dish.

Shaking my head, I made my way to the bedroom area in the corner. This apartment was a studio, so it lacked many walls inside, but that was alright. My body lurched in a startle as the sound of a knock at my door echoed through the apartment.

I hadn't been expecting any arrivals, so I was cautious in my approach to the door. "Who is it?" I called, a few inches from the door. I was leaned back on my heels, ready to move if necessary.

"You know who it is, Red."

With a heavy sigh, and a drop of my shoulders, I pulled open the door. "You have crap timing, you know that, right?" I questioned, rhetorically, as I gave a small glare.

Victor snorted before walking past me into my apartment, "You're one to talk on timing. I distinctly remember _you_ being the one calling _me_ at three am Saturday night, looking for another asshole."

Tossing my eyes, I closed and locked the front door. Victor, however much he complained about my random calls, did in fact enjoy having something to do. It was evident in the way he was so quick to comply with whatever I asked.

How fast he got me what I needed. I walked into the living room and weakly gestured to the couch. "Are you gonna sit or just stand there like a douchebag?" I asked, as I dropped into the chair opposite the couch.

"He's back, Savannah," Victor spoke seriously, his words enough to send a bolt down my spine. "He knows about Beverly—not that she's you, just that she's somehow involved. He's coming for you."

"How the hell did he find Bev?"

I often found myself speaking of my new identity as though she were a longtime friend of mine, as though she weren't actually me. Victor shook his head, exhaling through his nose. His response only aggravated me.

Leaning forward in my seat, my arms braced against my thighs, I locked my fingers to squeeze them together. It gave me a false sense of relief. Finally, Victor stepped around the couch and lowered himself down to take a seat across from me.

He mirrored my position before speaking, "I found the girl you were looking for—well, a girl _like_ what you're looking for. The name Rachel Roth sound familiar?"

My eyes were downcast as I thought, mulling the name over in my mind. There was something about it that did in fact sound familiar. Like I'd heard it before somewhere. "A little, yeah," I nodded, glancing up. "Do you have a picture?"

Victor reached a hand into the fold of his coat, pulling it out a moment later to reveal a rectangular paper between his fingers. He leaned forward to hold it out to me and I took it a bit faster than I'd intended.

It was too much, not knowing. I was desperate for answers to so many questions. The photo now in my hands, I turned it over. The hairs at the nape of my neck stood tall as my eyes met those of the girl in the photo. It was her.

"Holy shit," I whispered.

"Must be who you were looking for."

I looked up at Victor, "Where is she now?"

"Traverse City is her home address," he answered, resuming his mirrored position. "Considering she's female, and a child, i'm going to assume the objective isn't to kill her."

"The objective is to get her out of my fucking head," I spoke the words through a clenched jaw, pushing myself to my feet.

I stepped around the couch and went to the bedroom side of the apartment—more specifically, to my closet. If traffic was fair, I could get to Traverse City and back before morning. So I began rummaging through my hanging clothes for something to change into.

Victor stood up from the couch, stepping around it to face me with a heavy sigh, "I know this is usually where my part in all of it ends—but she's a kid. What exactly are you gonna do?"

"I'm going to talk to her."

"Just talk? Doesn't sound like you."

"Jesus, Victor, I'm not going to hurt her," I turned my head to give him a wide-eyed expression of exasperation. "I need answers, and I'm not coming back until I get them."

* * *

I pulled up alongside the road, parking in front of the house Victor had directed me to. It was small, quaint—not exactly what I expected. Then again, I didn't really know what I expected. This was new territory for me.

Never had I felt connected to a living being, a living being that was also so young. She wasn't going to die. But the real reason for her being in my visions alluded me.

Shutting my car door, I walked around the front of the vehicle and made my way up the walkway to the front door. My foot stepped within four feet of the door and my body temperature dropped in a sudden disappearance of all heat.

It caused me to slow, but I didn't stop. I knew what that feeling meant—someone died here. Cautiously, I tried the front door, only to find it unlocked. That was the second indication of foul play. No reasonable person would leave their door unlocked.

Especially not in a neighborhood like this. Nice, quiet neighborhoods were the perfect targets for burglary. Not to mention it seemed like it was a little dirtier than it should be. Perfect target.

Slowly, I pushed the door open and took a careful step inside. Though it was highly unlikely she was here, I still called out, "Rachel?" There was no response, as expected. A twinge in my gut caught my attention and I felt myself being physically pushed forward.

My feet shuffled forward from a force against my back, through the living room toward the kitchen. There was nothing truly behind—only my body trying to show me something specific. I took a step into the kitchen, and that was all I needed.

Glass covered the floor, along with crimson blood that drained from a body two feet into the room. It was a woman, lying on her stomach, bleeding from her forehead. She'd been shot. I didn't have to look closer to know—I could feel it.

I could feel the tension in the small room. It covered the walls, the pictures of what had happened here. Slowly, I knelt down, and I reached out to take a piece of glass. The shards covering the tiles had come from the broken kitchen table.

The feelings I already had told me Rachel had broken it. But, when I picked up the glass, an image shot into my vision like a ray of sun. It was Rachel, standing just behind the table, screaming. Along with it came a strong mixture of unreadable emotions.

It felt extremely dark, so much so I was almost nauseous. The overwhelming shock of it all caused me to drop the glass almost immediately, and the sound of it clattering to the floor bounced off the walls in a metallic echo, so loud my ears burned.

The vibrant heat in my ear canals caused me to hiss loudly as my hands shot to my ears. Though I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, another image flashed against my eyelids. This one was only slightly different. It was the same scene.

Rachel lurched up from her chair, her eyes blackening as her body fluctuated. What came to me brought along with it more darkness—unrest and anger, in the form of a thousand screams in my ears. The screams were metallic as well.

They blurred together almost into one. It added more volume, more heat to my already burning ears. I cried out as the pain intensified but that did not stop the images. My muscles found it difficult to stand back up, as though the gravity in the room had been dialed to eleven.

The very fibers of my rib cage felt like they were being compressed the more I stood. It made it feel difficult to breathe, therefore causing my lungs to work faster, adding to the anxiety and nausea.

Something was very wrong in that room—in that whole house. Feeling what it had to offer was like opening the door to hell to hear the angered cries of the damned. There was no way those people were alive. Not with what I felt.

As quickly as possible, hands still covering my ears to no avail, I stumbled back through the living room toward the front door. I had to get out of that horror house. Moving toward the door only intensified it all, as though the house itself was trying to keep me inside.

It only unsettled and pained me more. I kept pressing on until I'd made it through the doorway to the outside. As soon as I was out on the walkway, the physical hold on me was lifted, along with whatever was trying to hold me down.

Therefore I was sent stumbling forward as the thing I fought against was no longer there, as though I were a rubber band someone had pulled tight and let fly like a bullet.

My lungs inflated fully, the vice on my ribs gone, and I breathed deeply as I walked quickly to my car. I only stopped moving when I held my palms up, letting them hit the side of my car to stop me from going any farther.

I rocked back on my heels. What I felt in that house was unlike anything I'd ever felt in my years of dealing with the dead. It left an uneasy, somewhat sour taste in my mouth. It took me a moment of breathing deeply to come down.

Once I was down, I was able to fully take in my surroundings. The sun was clearly in the early stages of setting. Streetlights were beginning to hum to life. I needed to get home. I needed to get away from here. Following the line of the car with my hands to stay upright, I made my way to the driver's side.

I pulled open the door and slid onto the seat behind the wheel, closing the door quickly behind me, as though that might shut out the way I now felt beneath my skin.

My heart leapt from my chest at the buzzing sound of my cell phone on the passenger seat. Immediately my eyes snapped to the right, staring at the device in alarm a second, before I realized what it was and relaxed.

Today was clearly not my day to feel at peace. I answered the call without looking at the ID, too busy putting the keys in the ignition to start the car. "This is Beverly," I answered.

"You're never gonna guess who I've got my eyes on right now."

It was Victor's crusty voice. I started the car and pulled onto the road, stepping on the gas to get away from the house as quickly as possible. "It's Rachel, isn't it?" I spoke rhetorically.

"How'd you guess?"

I sighed, "There's a dead woman in her kitchen—wasn't her, but it definitely scared the shit out of her. So the question is, why the hell is she in Detroit?"

"Maybe she's looking for you, too? Just a thought."

"Stop making sense, that's my role."

"Yeah, sure," he huffed a mild snort. "You better get your red ass back to the city before she disappears again. I'll tail her until you get here, make sure she's not getting into trouble."

"Thanks."

I ended the call and focused my attention on the road. There was no reasonable explanation for what I had seen and felt in that house. But, if I could catch up to Rachel, she'd most likely be able to shed some light on at least the gist of it.

The traffic wasn't too bad. Though, it still took me a couple hours to get back into Detroit. By then, it was dark, and just about the worst time for a teenage girl to be out wandering around alone.

Thankfully Victor would be keeping an eye on her, but I would feel more comfortable knowing someone else was watching her—someone with a cape. That would entail bringing Dick into the fold on my fiasco, and that was not yet something I wanted to do.

This was still manageable on my own—I didn't need him for anything other than his muscle right now. He could certainly wait. I was five minutes away from Victor's location when he called me again.

Still driving, I answered the call. "Hey, something weird's going on with the kid," Victor told me, immediately upon answering. "She threw a brick at a cruiser—looks like the cops are taking her in."

I had to work to keep myself from taking my only hand on the wheel off it to slap my palm against my forehead. It would make it easy, considering the precinct they would take her to was one I knew well, but it was difficult when you factor in Dick working there.

I groaned, "Alright. You can let off now. I've got it from here."

"Good luck, red."

Those were Victor's final words and then the line went dead. I ended my side of the call and tossed my phone into the passenger side before taking a sharp left to get onto the right road. I drove to the precinct and swerved into a parking space out front.

I barely turned the vehicle off before getting out and shutting the door. I was too close not to be in a hurry. Especially with her being arrested, I need to move fast to get ahead of whatever was going on.

My feet speed-walked into the main floor of the building and aimed straight for the stairs. I didn't have time for the elevator—I was already too far behind. My hand gripped the staircase railing, helping me drift around it to start up the stairs.

Three steps up and Dick walked around the corner from the higher set of stairs. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion upon seeing me, "Beverly? What are you doing here?"

"Where's Rachel?" I asked, reaching the landing he stood on.

"Hold on—you know her?" he questioned, bewildered. Then, turning serious, he lowered his voice, "Is this one of your premonitions? Is she going to get hurt?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but a sharp pain stabbed the right side of my neck. My hand shot to the area as I hissed in pain. "What the hell?" I spoke quietly, pulling my hand back to check for blood.

"Talk to me, what's going on?" Dick was desperate to understand, lost but concerned.

An urgency overcame me as it settled into my chest—the knowledge that she was in trouble. It was an unreadable thing that gripped me from the inside, pushing me to get moving. "Rachel's in trouble, Dick! Where is she?" I questioned, quickly.

"She's in an interrogation room upstairs. Come on."

He motioned briefly for me to follow before he turned on his heels to hurry back up the staircase he'd just come down from. I was hurrying along right behind him. I'd never met this girl in person. But there was something about being in someone's head that bonded you.

It felt like the people I knew were dying, like I knew her personally and I took her troubles personally. As though she were my own blood. Dick lead the way to the interrogation room. Up the stairs, through a door, and down a hall.

As we neared the door marked **interrogation** , it became clearer and clearer that said door was wide open. I knew it shouldn't have been by the way Dick's shoulders tensed and his steps slowed ever so slightly. It was unexpected and worrisome.

Whatever he was thinking, he kept to himself as he immediately started back down that hallway toward the stairs. He was almost running.

I followed him down the stairs and through the garage. The more my feet moved, the warmer my chest felt—like a game of hot and cold. My body knew we were getting closer before I did. There was an open door at the back of the garage.

Dick and I stepped through it just as a police cruiser began to drive by us. An overwhelming feeling of warmth in my chest was almost enough to burn as my eyes settled on the slumped form of Rachel, unconscious in the back seat of the cruiser.

But noticing her did nothing, for the vehicle was already going too fast to stop on such short notice, and it kept driving toward the exit of the parking lot. My eyes were stuck on the cruiser and I found myself unable to move my feet.

I could barely breathe, even though my chest was heaving in oxygen. Something was not right. It was like a fiery flame in my chest painfully being put out with a crushing weight of worry. It made me want to scream.


	2. Blood On The Blade

_**DICK FOLLOWED ME INSIDE**_. It was easy to follow the police cruiser to this warehouse. The hard part was holding myself together. I could feel it still—the insatiable urge to scream. Only a handful of times had I felt such a thing in my life.

I certainly had not expected to feel it now. To stay calm, I focused my breathing, following the heat in my chest in the direction it intensified. "Hey, I'm the one with the gun here," Dick spoke quietly, as we reached a blind corner.

"And _i'm_ the one about the level the block," I said, over my shoulder. "If I tell you to run, you listen."

Cautious but moving quickly, I turned the corner and kept walking, hearing a heavy sigh from Dick behind me. I wasn't trying to be the leader—my body chose that role for me. There was no way I could stand going any slower.

I took two more steps before a muffled scream echoed out through the building. There'd been no indication that Rachel was going to die, but that did not stop the rush of adrenaline pouring into my veins as the heat in my chest turned sharp.

It felt almost as though there was a knife floating around freely in my chest cavity. It was painful, though it was more alarming than anything. I started walking faster, hopping into a light jog, and I heard Dick call out behind me.

My consciousness didn't register what exactly he'd said. I was too focused. The feelings inside me were physically pushing me along, around another corner and across a small room to a closed door.

I could feel it—she was on the other side. Carefully, I placed my hand on the door. Only two souls brought warmth to my fingertips. One was Rachel's and the other belonged to a much older male. Her captor, I knew.

"Dammit, Anna!"

Dick whisper-yelled at me angrily, hurrying up beside me at the door. I didn't acknowledge his annoyance, his anger, or his concern. My body was attuned to the beings on the other side of the door, too much so to be bothered.

The older male had changed positions, and my eyebrows knitted as I focused to keep my connection, trying to figure out where he was moving to. My fingertips began to vibrate with warmth and electricity, and I knew—he was directly on the other side of the door.

I opened my mouth to speak, to tell Dick of my findings, when something cut me off entirely. " _Savannah_!" it was Rachel's voice. I'd never heard her speak before, but I didn't need to. Somehow, I knew. Somehow, I could feel the desperation, the fear in every pull of her vocal chords.

Without much hesitation—or thought, really—I took two steps back, hiked up my leg, then thrusted my heel into the door. The door burst open, slamming into the back of the man standing behind it. He was shoved forward several steps, and he turned quickly to see behind him.

I took a quick step inside the room, to which the man swung the bloody dagger he held right at my head-level. There was no way this man was going to out battle me using a knife. Knives were _my_ thing. Ducking, I easily missed the blade.

Coming back up, I twisted as I pulled the knives from my jacket sleeves, slicing the back of the man's arm—the arm holding his own knife. It was a quick move I'd learned long ago that typically disarmed whomever I used it on.

This man wasn't quite disarmed, but I fixed that in kicking the heel of my boot into the back of his knee, dropping him down a foot. My next movements were instinct, they were muscle memory. But, regardless, it was something I knew I would regret.

I felt the regret before I'd even done it. Too much of my blood pulsed in my ears to stop myself, though. I'd ventured too far into the realm of my abilities to be pulled out of it before I sank both my blades into the man's back.

There was a hollow sound as the metal carved through his flesh, followed by his cry of pain. They were in for a quick pause before I gave them a yank, pulling them back out, causing the man to fall flat on his face on the wooden floor of the warehouse.

My chest heaved, breathing heavily from the sudden excitement of a fight. I hadn't killed a man in almost two years. But that record would be washed clean with this man's blood the moment his heart stopped. It didn't sink in, what I'd done—not until I met Dick's gaze.

His eyes were wide, features horror-stricken as he stood there frozen, still holding his handgun in a ready position—unable to move it. A sniffling sound, a scuffle from behind was the only thing that could pull me from my thoughts.

I twisted to see the source of the sounds, and my eyes landed on Rachel. She was tied to a chair near the back of the room, struggling against her restraints, and crying. "Maybe _you_ should..." I trailed off, turning back to Dick with a nod in Rachel's direction.

He nodded a little, eyes downcast as he hurried around me to free Rachel. My eyes lowered to look over my knives. The silver metal of both blades was covered in dark red. Some of it was smeared on the skin of my hands as well.

It only further became clear with the passing of the seconds, coming to me in a dizzying nausea as my heart sank all the way to the soles of my feet. The horror in Dick's eyes was burned into my eyelids.

Just another thing on my mind to bring me guilt. Dick was consoling Rachel, reassuring her of her safety as I wiped my knives off on the back of the dead man's jacket and stowed them away up my sleeves.

No, I felt no sympathy for the dead man. Any guilt I felt from his death had nothing to do with him at all and everything to do with the invisible rules I'd broken. The rules Dick set forth to ensure I didn't revert to merciless killings.

"Savannah?"

A mopey voice came from behind me, and I knew it to be Rachel's. I turned my head at the sound of my name, softly raising a brow, as my eyes landed on the girl I'd just killed for. She was pulling away from Dick, sitting back to look at me past her wet cheeks.

With a shift of my feet, I turned around to face her fully. "Was this guy trying to kill you because you clawed your way into _his_ head, too?" I asked her, cold and vaguely bitter.

She stammered nervously through her reply, "I didn't- I...you-"

"Just stay out of my head," I narrowed my expression in irritation, before moving my eyes to Dick's face. "We need to move. Sooner rather than later."

Dick nodded once, visibly in thought, and he stood quickly. He helped Rachel to her feet—and the whole time her eyes stayed on me. Her irises were curious, confused, and concerned all at once. I could feel it in my chest.

There were so many things she wanted to say but the words didn't come out fast enough. That, and I was not as receptive as she most likely anticipated. Dick took steps toward me, lowering his voice as he spoke, "We'll take her back the apartment, change cars. I know some people we can hide out with."

"You're seriously considering leaving town with her?" I questioned, as he came to stand in front of me.

He gave me a confused expression, "Anna, she's just a kid. We can't leave her."

"Yes, and what's your plan for the long-term?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

"In other words, you have no idea what you're going to do—you're just going to do it," I tilted my head in an expression. Dick sighed heavily through his nose, giving me a slightly annoyed look. I sidestepped to see around him, ignoring him altogether. "Come on, we're going somewhere safe."

Rachel quickly but hesitantly followed as I turned and started walking back out of the building. It was ridiculous to not think anything through, to simply jump in and expect no later consequence. Protecting this girl and getting her out of the city was the right thing to do.

Doing it without a plan, however, was not smart. I hadn't felt secure in winging-it for a long time. Everything needed to be planned—especially with the final name on my list getting wind of Beverly's existence.

We made it outside to Dick's vehicle. Rachel was put in the back, with Dick driving, and I in the passenger seat. As soon as I was sat down and the door was closed, I felt a warm density in the center of my chest cavity.

It was familiar—too familiar. The feeling swirled with irritation once I'd recognized what it was. Dick was pulling away from the curb when I twisted in my seat, looking at Rachel through the space between the front row. "Stop it," I hissed.

Her eyes widened a little in surprise of my harsh tone, "...I'm not doing anything."

"Yes, you _are_ —I can feel it."

"Feel what?" Dick questioned, glancing between me and the road in confusion. "What aren't you telling me?"

I sat straight forward in my seat again, dropping back against the chair with an exhale, "I get this feeling in my chest—it happens when I get around _her_. That's how I knew where she was."

"Wait, you can feel it, too?" Rachel sat forward in her seat, leaning toward the space between the front row as she spoke. It decreased the amount of space between us. Drastically, the heat in my chest increased.

My body instinctively lurched to the right, pressing into the passenger door to escape it, to escape her. "Yes, and you're making it worse," I nodded once, before turning my head to give her a stern look.

Almost immediately, she sat back in her seat, releasing the pressure inside me. I could exhale deeply and not inhale warmth. "Sorry," she apologized, quietly.

I remained quiet. There was not much to say, but many things to think. In my head is where I remained until we arrived at Dick's apartment building. It wasn't my intention, but I was the first out of the car.

Dick stepped out on his side as I rounded the front of the car. I was almost to the sidewalk when I felt a wind against my face, the hairs at the nape of my neck standing up. The sensation immediately sent my hand up level with my head.

Just as my hand went up, something hard hit my open palm, and my fingers clamped down over Dick's car keys. My feet stood still as I looked at him questioningly, "Why are you giving me these?"

"Go ahead to your apartment and pack a bag—i'll pack mine and we'll meet you there," he answered.

"Alright."

I didn't like the odd feel of the dynamic, but I was glad to be getting away from Rachel. Anything to get the heat burning my chest to stop. That's what I told myself, driving to my apartment. Beverly's apartment. Mine.

Sometimes they felt like the same person. Sometimes it felt disgusting living as someone else. I didn't bother turning on the light when I walked into the apartment. The living room window was still open, letting in a breeze.

My eyes spotted Cerberus asleep in the chair as I passed through to the bedroom area. I grabbed the duffel from my closet and tossed it on the bed, then swiftly began to fill it with necessities. Moving around was nothing I wasn't accustomed to.

After Arkham, there was no settling anywhere. All I would need to take from any apartment in an emergency would be my clothes and my gear. I could pack my hood and boots beneath my other clothes in the duffel.

I owned nothing else of any importance. Every apartment comes fully furbished. There were no attachments—and that's how I wanted it. It was how I needed it.

Once I was packed, I changed my clothes to things that were plain and ultra-ordinary. Dark jeans, an old t-shirt, tennis shoes, and my Superman hoodie. A black ball cap hid my head casually. It was just normal enough not to be noticed.

My hand tugged the duffel's strap up onto my shoulder and I exited the apartment. Given my nondescript lifestyle these days, my mode of transportation was anything but flashy. Though, it wasn't a junker either.

Victor helped me set up this life as Beverly, and in the process pulled as many strings as he had to in order to get me something to drive. It happened to be an old, considerably beat up Mustang. It was parked in the parking garage below the building.

I pulled the keys from my pocket and unlocked the driver's side door. Just as I pulled it open, Dick's Porsche swerved into a parking spot on the passenger side of my Mustang. I tossed my duffel onto the passenger seat as Dick climbed out of the Porsche.

"Got what you need?" he asked, taking steps to round the side of the Mustang.

Nodding, I tossed him his keys over the hood. He caught them effortlessly as I said, "I'll just follow you guys. I'm not cramming into the Porsche with her."

"That's understandable," he nodded once, coming to stand just on the other side of the open driver's side door. There was silence between us for a moment. It felt as though I were meant to say something but, even if I were, I was lot as to what it might be.

So, instead, I gave another quiet nod and slid in behind the wheel of the Mustang. I pulled the door shut after me and immediately slid the key into the ignition. It was hard enough to look at his face and not see what I'd done. Specifically, how what I'd done made him look at me.

It was the only reflection in his once inviting eyes—I could not unsee it. Dick drove the Porsche and I drove the Mustang. Our two vehicles traveled through the night, only stopping at a roadside diner in Ohio once the sun was fully up.

Being awake all night was my specialty, so I remained unbothered. I stayed in my car while Dick and Rachel went in for a break from driving. The time alone was nice. The driving, however, was a bit annoying. But, once again, I told myself I was doing the right thing.

That doing the right thing was all that mattered. After all, Rachel was just a child. I was about her age when I began to experience all that my body could do. As I sat there in the car, my phone began to wail with vibration.

Sighing, I answered the incoming call, "What now, dipshit?"

"Morning to you, too," Victor grumbled on the other end of the line. "Just checking in. Any sign of him?"

"No, none that I've noticed. I don't think he'll come after me in the way you're thinking—he'll wait for me to come to him, it's more his style," I replied, almost monotone, keeping my eye on Dick and Rachel through the diner window.

"Will you?"

"Eventually."

Victor sighed heavily, "Jesus, Savannah."

I readjusted to lean back a bit in my chair, exhaling. "Relax, Grandpa. I'm a little busy right now to be throwing myself to slaughter," I assured, a bit sarcastically. "What can you tell me about his setup?"

There was a shuffle on the other end of the line. Most likely Victor moving around his office. I hadn't been there since I left Gotham. Ever since, we'd only been dealing over the phone. Never in person.

After a moment, Victor spoke again, "Soon as he got out, he made alliances with various crime families in the city. I've got inside intel that's saying he's partnered with an off-the-books weapons manufacturer to arm himself and the families. It looks like a take over in the making to me."

Closing my eyes, I threw my head back into the chair. He'd been in prison with plenty of time to make friends, connections on the inside. Now that he was out he had everything he needed to partner up with anyone necessary in order to make his plan happen.

Sending him to prison was the worst thing that could've happened, looking at the present. In the past, it was the only way to get him out of power—and it was what he deserved.

Well, what he truly deserved was death, but prison was the closest thing available at the time. I sighed heavily and righted myself in my seat, readjusting my hold on the phone, "Think Batsy knows about this?"

"Given their history, I'd say it's more than likely he's gotten a whiff of it by now."

"Great," I mumbled, vaguely irritated. My eyes shot up from the center of the steering wheel as movement caught them, and I saw Dick and Rachel exiting the diner. Normalizing my tone, I told Victor, "I've gotta go. Keep me updated."

Victor huffed a chuckle, "Yeah, sure thing, Boss."

I ended my side of the call and tossed the phone into the passenger seat, then I turned the key in the ignition to start up the engine. Dick glanced in my direction as he opened his car door, and I gave a nod to show I was ready, before he disappeared inside the vehicle.

Part of me thought that the apprehensive tension between us had nothing to do with what happened anymore, and everything to do with my own distancing, but I didn't follow up with that thought. It was too easy to believe the first option.

We stopped at a motel off the Interstate for the night. Under the pretense I would not be sleeping anyway, the three of us got two joining rooms. I dropped my duffel on the bed in the first room as Rachel moseyed into the second one.

Dick closed the door behind us all, and I could hear him putting his suitcases on the table somewhere behind me as I faced the bed. My fingers gently tugged the glasses from my face and placed them atop my duffel bag.

Sounds of foreign voices filtered in through the open doorway between the two rooms, and I knew Rachel was watching television. There was a touch to my lower back that was immediately followed by Dick stepping up at my side.

It surprised me, his closeness—but I didn't protest it. "Can we talk? Outside?" he spoke quietly, the words obviously only for me to hear.

I nodded once, and I followed him just outside the room, out onto the balcony walkway of the second floor. Originally, I'd assumed it wasn't far enough. But he didn't travel any farther than that. "What is it?" I asked, closing the door behind us.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his tone curious yet rhetorical. He knew what the answer was, but he was giving me a chance to explain. When I didn't answer, he asked something slightly different. "Are _we_ okay?"

Loosely folding my arms across my chest, I replied, "That's not what you want to know."

Dick paused for a quiet moment, staring at me with the same expression—one that said he knew I was right, but was trying not to give in. Then after another moment one eye narrowed and he said what I knew he was going to, "Did you have to kill that guy?"

"Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"Because he would've kept coming. He would've hurt Rachel. One of us was going to kill him, Dick—it's better that it was me," I answered, calmly.

"Detroit Police already know about you, you've just made it worse! I had a gun- I could've-"

Irritated, I interrupted, "Killed him?"

Dick's mouth froze mid-sentence, not continuing it to prove me right. Once again he'd paused in thought, most likely trying to find a way to justify him being the one to do it rather than me—when we both knew it would be the same answer as it always is.

As usual, I would be told I was a murderer. A cold-blooded killer that only killed for satisfaction rather than heroics. To know he thought so low of me was a hurtful disappointment in and of itself. But to know that he would go so far to defend that narrative was downright offensive.

In his moment of pause, I felt bold enough to voice my frustration. "I did it to save that girl's life—you know, the girl you were willing to travel cross-country at a moment's notice to protect?" I spoke spitefully, dropping my hands to my sides in fists. "It was exactly what _you_ would've done. Yet somehow it's wrong simply because it's _me_."

Dick sighed heavily through his nose, visibly frustrated, "You can't just _kill_ people, Savannah. If you go back to what you were doing in Gotham, you'll lose whatever is left of you inside your bitchy exterior."

"You know what? _Fuck_ you, Richard—I'm done with your holier-than-thou bullshit. I didn't ask for it and I sure as _hell_ don't want it."

Washing my hands of the conversation, I turned on my heels and walked away. I followed the walkway until I reached the end of it. Odds were that if there was a way onto a rooftop, I would find it. It wasn't too hard with this building.

I simply climbed up onto the red railing of the walkway and hopped onto the fire escape that lined the side of the building. From there it was just a flight of metal stairs to reach the roof. My chest was almost heaving from the anger in my veins.

It was too much to sit still, so I paced. That only pacified me for a short time. Then I needed to sit, drop my head in my hands, and try to calm myself with deep breaths. My mind only fell into an abyss of conflicting thoughts.

Yes, Dick wanted to help preserve what was left of me. But I wasn't so sure there was any left to begin with. It wasn't his responsibility to police me. It wasn't his choice what I decided to do. Even in my spite's words, there was truth.

My father had groomed me to be perfect from a young age. When there was a function, charity event, or outing of some kind, I was there looking pretty to support the image of a perfect father-daughter duo. But, when I needed him, he was never there.

He was absent from the important parts of my life in the name of work. Yet I was still required to keep up that perfect image, to show my support for him no matter how fake it was.

I've been intimately familiar with the nature of hypocrites for most of my life. Having that pressure, that unreachable expectation once more only made me anxious from thoughts of my past—thoughts of the man I'd burned out of my heart.

I stayed on the roof for a long time. Long enough that I knew, by then, at least Rachel would be asleep. Having her out of the picture would help me say what I needed to without feeling like I needed to censor myself.

There was too much on my mind, my veins were too hot to keep silent any longer. I got up from my sitting position just after two o'clock in the morning. At least, that's what my cell phone clock said.

If he was sticking to his usual pattern, Dick would still be awake. So I hurried to the fire escape. The metal shrieked beneath my weight and the staircase jostled with my speed but I did not slow down. I had the courage. I needed to move swiftly or I would lose it forever.

So I speed-walked until I reached the right motel room. I threw my knuckles against the door before the rest of my body had caught up. My chest heaved with a mixture of exertion and adrenaline.

It was only a few moments before he pulled open the door. The action revealed Dick's tired eyes, his features worn in the shadows from the dim light inside. "I can't be what you want," I blurted, trying desperately to remain emboldened.

"What?" Dick asked, utterly confused.

"All this time, I've been walking on eggshells waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to fuck up and do something you can never forgive me for," I explained, quickly but seriously. "I can't be…someone I'm not. If that means you can't love me, then I have to respect that. I'm sorry."

He looked at me seriously, like he set his eyes on me for the first time in years. The same look he'd given me after my stay in Arkham. Tears were burning my cheeks silently, breathing a bit exaggeratedly from the race of my heart.

Finally, after a moment of complete silence, he let go of the door to take a step outside. His silhouette joined mine in the misshapen overcast of a dying light bulb overhead, surprising me with warm palms flat against my icy cheeks.

"You will _always_ be what I want," he spoke slowly, quietly.

My head tilted slightly as I looked up at him through blurred vision, "No. You want Anna. You love _her_. You've never wanted _me_ —the one that kills people. That's never been you, Dick. That's why you left Gotham, for God's sake."

"I've been in love with you since we were fourteen. If killing murderers is who you are, then i'll learn to love that, too. I shouldn't have said what I said to you-"

"But you still said it, which means some part of you agrees with it," I pointed out.

"We'll figure this out, alright? We'll work through it. Just...don't give up on me yet. I'm not losing you again," he shook his head, his eyes drooping with a certain bitter-sweetness.

This was the most emotion I'd allowed myself to display in a couple of years. Always, I was at my most emotional when I was with him. Something about Dick Grayson broke through every wall I ever built, no matter the size. I could always open up to him.

Loosing a shuttering breath, I allowed my eyes to close for a moment. There was an enormous amount of guilt associated with the idea of forcing him to conform to my ideals in order to be with me. I couldn't be the thing that corrupted him.

But, then again, maybe I already had? After all, he'd gone through great lengths to remain close to me since my return to civilization, including memorizing details of another woman—my new identity as a civilian—just to keep me in his life with some kind of normalcy.

"Savannah, please look at me."

I forced my lids to lift, pushing out a fully formed tear drop onto my cheek. His thumb brush across my skin to swipe away the drop before it got far. "We'll work on it," he reiterated, trying to reassure me. "Together."

Exhaling, I gave a slow nod, "Alright."

My answer had been the pin which popped the balloon of desperation and anxiousness that was Dick Grayson. His shoulders instantly relaxed, tipping his head down to press his lips to my forehead.

I couldn't help but close my eyes upon feeling the warmth. I'd been on the roof too long. The icy night winds had frozen every inch of my body. Surprisingly, though, I was not yet shivering. "Stay with me tonight," Dick spoke quietly, touching his forehead to mine.

It had been a while since I shared sheets with another person in that way that the idea of it was almost completely foreign. And I wasn't sure I quite liked that. So, without much hesitation, I agreed to it.

I felt his skin shift against mine before I could feel the faintest brush on my lips. The contact was unexpected, and it lit a small flame in the pit of my stomach, creating a heat that warmed my cold body from the inside out.

My arms moved up around his neck, causing his hands to drop to my waist and slide around to my back. It pulled our chests together as our open mouths connected. Despite the bout of resentment i'd grown in my heart, there was nothing I could've done to pull myself away.

He offered what I'd craved—put rather simply, _touch_. I stopped relying on other people when they started leaving. My father could never look at me the same again. Barbara wanted to help me but she could not. All the people in my life I'd called 'friend' had come to know me as a murderer.

Aside from that, there was too much death in my life. My skin could show me things no human being should ever be able to see. When you have that power, that curse, you tend to steer clear of any form of human contact for fear of witnessing another end.

Having it after all this time was like a drug to me. I was a relapsing addict. It was not clear who had started our shuffling retreat into the room. All that I knew was that I needed it like I needed breath.

 **((skip to next note if you don't want to read the smut!))**

Dick had pinned me against the door as soon as it was closed after our entrance, his lips roaming over the exposed skin of my neck and jaw. Sounds of pleasure escaped me as I tilted my head aside to allow him better access.

My fingers were quick in unbuttoning the thick folds of my jacket, and I arched off the door to wriggle the fabric from my shoulders. He lifted his head to remove his shirt from his body and I took the opportunity to do the same.

Our mouths were connected the second both articles of clothing were gone. We traveled away from the door. My jeans were easy to discard before the backs of Dick's knees hit the mattress and I gave his chest a small shove, causing him to fall backward onto the bed.

The bed springs bounced beneath his weight with a shriek. He looked up at me with irises full of lust as I climbed onto him, straddling his waist. My hands slid up his muscular abdomen to his chest, relishing the heat against my fingertips.

I leaned forward and caught his lips between mine, and his hands gripped my hips tightly. It was easy to feel his arousal with nothing but the cotton of my underwear against the front of his jeans. Thoughts entered my mind, things i'd never be able to unthink.

Peeling myself away, I sat upright, and my hands went straight to the bra clasp against my back. The only person I could touch without feeling wrong was Dick. I'd discovered that long ago. Though I did have a premonition concerning him, nothing else had transpired in that nature.

It gave me a place to retreat to, a place to hide. But it also gave me a much needed release. My fingertips unhooked my bra and the contraption was tossed away quickly. Dick's hands traveled up my body, a faint vibration left behind on my skin.

As his hands cupped my bare breasts, he sat upright as well, lips immediately connecting with my collar bones. Heat spread throughout my chest as he placed wet kisses all over the exposed skin.

My fingers hooked through the belt loops of his jeans to keep me anchored, leaning back to allow for space as his lips made contact with my left breast. His warm tongue slid across my skin and my whole body shuddered.

There was no hiding the fact that we hadn't been intimate for a while—and that was mostly thanks to me. But, when he touched me like that, it didn't feel like any time had passed. Every movement came with an unmistakable familiarity.

Warm waves of pleasure radiated through my body with his mouth on one breast and his hand on the other. I let my eyes close, my fingers tightening around his belt loops as I tipped my head back, releasing a moan straight from the pit of my stomach.

"Dick..." I was breathless. "I need more."

"Tell me what you want," he spoke against my skin.

Just the sound of his lustful whisperings drove me wild. I exhaled my reply, "Take me. Claim me. Make love to me. I'm yours."

He lifted his head, darkened orbs coming to settle on mine as I reopened them. "Jesus, Savannah," he spoke quietly, voice gently graveled. "I love you so fucking much."

"I don't believe you."

There was an immediate shift in the air's density. He knew exactly what I was doing—I could see it in his eyes. It was something I'd said to purposely goad him during one of the first times we'd slept together. Eventually, it became kind of an inside joke.

But I wanted to see if he'd remember—and also, to show him _I_ still remember. His lips devoured mine passionately, hungrily as his arms encircled my torso, scooping me up and pulling me closer.

I moved my hands to his shoulders, gripping tightly to them as I was eaten alive. In a swift and simple maneuver, Dick lifted me and changed our positions, now pushing my back against the sheets.

He gave one last open-mouthed kiss before once again kissing down my chest, this time traveling past my breasts to my abdomen. The line of wet imprints on my skin drew a line all the way to the waistband of my underwear.

Dick sat back between my thighs and gripped the fabric with his fingertips, easing the clothing off my hips and down my legs. They were tossed away with the other forgotten clothes around the bed. Next, he worked quickly to unbuckle his belt.

My heart was beating the inside of my rib cage senseless in anticipation as I watched his every movement. I lay naked before him while he rid himself of his other garments, leaving nothing left to be removed for either of us.

Once he'd gotten rid of the clothes, he resumed his place on top of me. His body pressed against mine and our mouths melded together. I parted my legs a little more as his hand moved between our pelvises, adjusting to insert himself.

A bit slowly, he eased himself inside me, and neither of us could stifle our moaning. I hooked my legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper, as his hands found mine. Our fingers interlocked and he pushed them above my head, thrusting his hips in a slow pace.

"You're so beautiful," Dick mumbled against the skin of my neck. "God, you feel so good."

I was drowning in the pleasure that filled my veins, almost too much to see straight. My eyelids fluttered shut as I moaned, "Mm...more."

He eased into a faster pace, and I rolled my hips to match him. "How's that?" he grunted, his forehead against the side of my neck.

"So good...ah! So good...mm... _fuck_...fuck, fuck, fuck."

It would've been an embarrassment, my lack of control, if I hadn't known just how much it turned him on to hear my praise of his performance. The thrusts became deeper, a bit rougher, and I was practically writhing in ecstasy.

My stomach was full of knots—I could tell I was getting close. "Right there, baby, right there," I whimpered, almost ready to fall apart. "Mm...just like that."

"Shit, I'm almost there."

A solid thrust had my back arching off the bed, gasping, "Holy _fuck_!"

I couldn't see them, but I was sure my knuckles were as white as December snow. The knots in my stomach were coiling like a snake. I was going to orgasm. "I'm gonna cum," I moaned the words.

"Let go, Anna. Cum with me—cum with me now," his said, in between wet kisses to my neck.

My whole body was tensed rapidly, only to relax just as fast, ecstasy pulsating in waves of heat throughout my body as I orgasmed. I'd exclaimed his name as I hit my high, bringing him to his own quickly following.

He came through a string of obscenities that were muffled against my collar bone as his heat filled me. The room echoed the sounds of our ragged breathing, our chests heaving against each other as we laid there.

 **((resume reading here if skipped!))**

Dick removed his hands from mine, instead moving them to my sides as he rested his head on my chest. I raked a hand back through his hair, the other resting on his slick shoulder blades, as I tried desperately to catch my breath.

"You believe me now?" Dick panted, sarcastically referring to my earlier comment.

Exhaling, I nodded, "Yeah, I believe you."

"I meant what I said. I want to work through this—I want to get past it. I just need some time. You know, I...I never wanted you to feel like you couldn't be yourself around me," he spoke quietly.

There was guilt layering his final words, a guilt I felt deep in my chest. My fingers gently slid through his dark hair before I tipped my head down, kissing his forehead. "I know," I whispered in reply.

"I call you Anna because I love you," he said, propping himself up on his forearms to see my face. There was a faint grin against his lips with his following addition. "Actually, I think 'Anna' and 'I love you' are synonymous at this point."

My hand fell from his hair to the side of his face, gently brushing the pad of my thumb along his lower lip, "I know that, too." The corners of my mouth tugged up into a soft smile. It faded with the thought that entered my mind.

It's never been as simple as saying you love someone. There's always other factors, always things that get in the way that neither of you can change. It disappointed me to remember my previous statement, that I would feel too guilty in tainting him in order to be with me.

The statement was still true. But it made sweet moments practically worthless. "What is it?" Dick asked, noticing the change in my expression. When I was hesitant to respond, he added, "Come on, talk to me. Isn't that what we're supposed to be doing, talking about things?"

"You've made it clear that you want no part in my way of justice. If we 'work on this', i'm not going to be the one changing, Dick. That means _you'll_ have to change—and I don't want that. I don't want to force you to change who you are just to love me," I explained, honestly.

"Hey, if I change anything about myself, it's because _I_ want it to change. It's on me. And maybe I don't want to be the kind of person that hurts you anyway? I don't have to approve of killing to not literally _be_ a dick," he replied.

His words were serious, but something in me was too compromised at that point not to let a laugh escape. My bubbling laugh caused Dick to loose an airy chuckle. Smiling softly, his fingertips pushed the hair at the side of my face behind my ear, "Please forgive me."

"For what?

"Being a 'fucking asshole'."

"I forgive you," I nodded slowly, trying not to smile.

There was something boyish in the way he grinned. It reminded me of the fourteen year old he was when I first met him. We laid there together on the bed like that, holding each other—his head on my chest, my hand in his hair.

I didn't want to let him go. But, as a glance at the clock reminded me, it was too late into the night already. "You need to get some sleep," I told Dick.

He held me tighter, mumbling, "No I don't."

"You've got a lot of driving to do."

"So do you."

"Yes, but I don't sleep."

He groaned heavily, sighing as he propped himself back up on his elbows. Everything about his face screamed tiredness. For a moment he remained still, and I could tell he was thinking.

Then in a snap he was moving, rolling off of me to sit up. Taking the opportunity, I sat up as well, stretching out my arms and legs after being in one position for a long while. As I retracted my limbs from stretching, I felt warm lips on my shoulder.

Humming, I leaned into Dick as his arms slid around me, kissing up my neck. "You're gonna stay, right?" he whispered, being so close to my ear. "I want to wake up next to you this time."

I answered him with a breathy reply, "I'll stay."

He peeled away from me and instantly I felt too cold. For the sake of a less awkward morning, we put our clothes back on—to an extent—before sleeping. It was Dick's idea, so that we didn't have to explain anything to Rachel.

He crawled beneath the blanket and I followed suit, snuggling into his chest once he was comfortable. I could hear the solid beat of his heart thrumming against his rib cage. It felt safe, warm, and comfortable. His arms stayed around my frame the whole night through.


	3. It's Simple

_**MORNING CAME SOON**_. Sunlight broke through the blinds in splinters that fractured across the whole room, making dust and anything else small enough visible in the air. My eyes followed the swirls as I laid there on my back.

Dick's arm remained draped around my middle, his face in my shoulder, still totally asleep. It was a miracle he didn't wake when I startled at the sound of Rachel's door clicking open. She poked her head out cautiously, "Are you guys still naked?"

Her features were smug, the corner of her mouth pinched in a small smirk. Huffing an airy chuckle, I shook my head, and she took slow steps out of her room. "I'm kind of stuck," I whispered, as she reached the end of the bed. "Do you need something?"

Rachel smiled a little at my words, replying to my question, "I'm hungry."

Carefully, I lifted up my torso on my elbows and turned myself over before nestling back down. My fingertips brushed Dick's hair away from his ear as I spoke quietly, "Hey, sleepy boy. I'm going to take Rachel to breakfast—i'll bring you back something."

"Be careful," he stirred, readjusting his head's position as he let out an exhale. "I love you."

"Love you, too."

I gave his left temple a quick kiss before I climbed out of bed. Rachel looked a mixture of feeling awkward and thinking it was sweet. Stereotypical of a teenager that isn't a total douche. I remembered feeling that way at her age.

Love was gross but it was also something I wanted—an odd contradiction that made it hard to determine what I thought about anything at all. I pattered past Rachel to get to my duffel on the table. "What do you feel like?" I asked, over my shoulder. "We passed a burger joint on the way here."

"Sounds good," Rachel nodded, dropping into a chair at the table.

Once I was dressed fully, we left the motel. Again I could feel the warmth start to radiate in my chest, advancing and retreating in waves depending on my body's proximity to hers. But I told myself I could ignore it. I could overlook it.

It was something I could swallow down along with my breakfast. I sat across from Rachel in a booth, keeping my eye on the street through the window at my left while she finished eating. "Why do you wear those?" she asked, suddenly. "You obviously don't need them."

My eyes shifted from the window to her face. She was talking about my glasses, I knew. I also knew there wasn't a simple explanation that would satisfy her. I exhaled, "It's called a disguise. It seems a little tacky but I learned from a pro."

"Why do you need a disguise?"

"I did bad things to some very _bad_ people," I replied, turning my head to look at her fully. "I'm kind of an escaped convict."

She raised a brow skeptically, "And glasses are going to hide you from the cops?"

"I didn't always look like this—my hair, my clothes, all of it. Ask Dick what I looked like before all of this when we get back to the motel. I think he's still got pictures."

"How long have you two been together?" she asked, curiously.

It was an innocent question, but irritation was beginning to bubble up inside me from the quantity of questions being thrown at me. Talking about myself and my life hasn't been something I could easily tolerate for years.

Though, I tried not to let it show as I once again answered her questions, "Off and on, most of our lives."

Rachel looked surprised, but also not at the same time. She looked down at her plate, fingering a scrambled egg. "You guys must really love each other," she said, quietly.

She looked a little crestfallen, a little bittersweet—and I could tell she was thinking about something or someone specific. Her sudden saddened turn of emotion gave my stomach a shot of panic. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what to say.

Getting into a deep conversation about love and relationships with this girl was not something I wanted—nor was it something I was prepared for. It felt like I was a wild animal that had just been backed into a corner, and I needed to get out.

So I sat back a little in my side of the booth and exhaled, swiftly changing the subject, "If you're done, we should get back to the motel. Still got some driving to do."

It wasn't the smoothest or the most caring of topic changes, but it caused the desired effect. We were able to get up and get moving. The car ride back to the motel was silent. Most likely because she was picking up on my lack of interest in conversation.

At least, lack of interest in what she was asking. Part of me felt bad for being so cold to someone so young and confused. But the majority of my being was at ease with the quiet. I pulled into the same space i'd been parked in before leaving, and cut the engine.

Rachel was the first to climb out of the vehicle. I pulled myself out a second later, shoving the keys into the pocket of my hoodie and closing the car door with my free hand. The last bits of the morning clouds were burning off, leaving a harsh sun that only grew strong as noon approached.

The three of us, in our separate vehicles, were on the road again by then. We made it to D.C. within a couple of hours. I parked the Mustang right behind Dick's Porsche along the sidewalk out in front of the apartment building.

Dick had insisted going to Hank and Dawn was the best way to go about this, and it wasn't as if I had anyone else I knew that was willing to shelter three dangerous people out of the kindness of their hearts. So, unfortunately, I went along with it.

It was apartment 304. I eyed the worn numbers on the door as we walked the hallway from the elevator. Savannah hadn't seen Hank or Dawn in years—Beverly, however, hadn't seen them at all. The disguise was weak if you really knew me.

But I was still uneasy on the idea of showing her to them. The whole point of this new identity was to make sure no one knew who I was, where I was, or that I was even still alive. Dick seemed to sense my apprehension as we reached the door.

His hand slipped into mine, fingers gently threading, just before hitting his knuckles against the wood. I stood there a bit awkwardly, feeling out of place with a ball cap and glasses, my duffel hanging loosely from my shoulder.

In a few seconds, the door opened to reveal a smiling Dawn Granger. Her smile faded a little as her eyes flitted between each of our faces, caught in surprise by our appearance, lingering for a moment on Dick. "Hey," he said, a bit quietly.

"Hi," she replied, staring at him like he was the semi truck about to run her doe eyes over.

Inhaling, I spoke up, "Hey, Dawn. It's been a while."

Her eyes moved to mine and narrowed just slightly, her head tilting in thought. "I'm sorry..." she shook her head slowly. "Do I...know you?"

I reached up with my free hand and tugged the glasses from my face. The second they were gone, it seemed to click in her mind, the realization visible on her face. Her features contorted into sheer surprise, "Savannah? Oh my god, what happened to your hair? You colored it?"

"Yes. I decided to get back into society," I nodded.

She nodded slowly as she listened, still in disbelief from the change. Rachel suddenly cleared her throat, stepping forward as she held out her hand toward Dawn, "I'm Rachel."

"Dawn," Dawn smiled at her, sliding her hand into Rachel's.

The moment their hands were firmly clasped, a rush of heat swept up my spine and flared as it reached my skull, engulfing my mind in a warmth. It didn't hurt. Instead, my mind rushed with thoughts and images flashed before my eyes without my consent.

These thoughts had recurring characters—Dick and Dawn. They were all over each other, kissing and touching in the most intimate of ways. I didn't know if the sound I vaguely heard was the sound of someone talking or the sound of my heart breaking.

Either way, the pang of sadness that had hit my chest along with these thoughts didn't last but a second. It was quickly replaced with a burning anger as the images stopped flooding my vision.

In an instinctive reaction, I yanked my hand out of Dick's hold and took a step back, my features contorting with disgust. The sudden move caused Dick to twist quickly in order to see me, to see what happened, and he rose an eyebrow at me.

He furrowed his brow, confused, "Anna, what-?"

"The _fuck_ is wrong with you?" I hissed at him, my eyes burning with rage. I could immediately tell he still did not understand—how could he? He hadn't seen what I'd seen. No, he simply lived it.

Rachel whirled quickly, looking at me in shock. She knew I'd seen it, too—and it only confirmed that she was not only the reason I saw those things, but for whom those things were originally intended. "Is something wrong?" Dawn asked, confused as she glanced between all of us.

"Maybe we should go inside?" Dick suggested to me, pointedly.

"Savannah, I'm so sorry," Rachel told me, quietly.

"Someone wanna tell me what the hell is going on?" Dick looked quickly between Rachel and I, frustratedly confused and even a little concerned. "Is this another one of your feelings?"

It was hard to contain myself, it was hard to remain in control of myself. I inhaled sharply, "Do whatever you want—I've got important things to do."

I turned on my heels and my feet carried me quickly back down the hall, toward the elevator we'd all just come from. "Hold on- Savannah!" Dick called after me, his voice echoing closer with each passing syllable.

It didn't stop me from pressing the downward button and waiting for the elevator doors. If anything, it made me want to leave more. I felt him carefully grab my arm before he came into my peripheral, his grip turning me to face him a little.

His eyes were still confused, but now they were mostly concerned. "Talk to me— _what_ is going on?" he question, quickly. "Why are you leaving?"

"Don't use that talking _bullshit_ with me—because when you talk, you just _lie_."

Dick recoiled, shuffling back a half-step in confused shock from my words, from my harsh tone. But he ultimately recovered, moving closer to me yet again to speak, even as the elevator doors were opening in front of us.

He lowered his voice, perplexed, "What are you talking about?"

"You slept with her!"

I practically shouted it, even though it was more of a hushed shout. After the words had left my mouth, a hush fell over the hallway, and finally Dick understood. His brown irises filled with realization as they searched mine.

Looking for the lie, looking for the truth—I didn't know. I didn't care, either. I pulled away from him and stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby. It was a mistake to look up from the panel of buttons.

It was a mistake, but I did it. My eyes looked past Dick to Rachel and Dawn, the two still standing at the door, watching the train crash before them. I focused on Dawn. The look on her face was clearly one of guilt—an expression my bitter heart knew she deserved.

She deserved to feel guilty. It was best that I left before I could decide she deserved anything worse. I knew Dawn from before Detroit, before Beverly took over Savannah. It made the sting so much worse.

* * *

If I was no longer paling around with someone wasting my time, I decided, I should get ahead of whatever storm was coming my way. To do that, I needed to contact someone specific from my past. Someone that I knew could answer my questions.

So there I stood, at the edge of the river in downtown Gotham, waiting for this specific someone to show their face while I sipped my iced coffee slowly through the straw. D.C. wasn't too far from Gotham City.

I hadn't stepped foot within its limits in only just over a month, though it felt as if it'd been many years. It felt as though it had been an eternity. Finally, I could hear tires crushing the gravel behind me. He had arrived.

The sounds of the car engine quit moments before echos of car doors drifted into my ears. "You were bold to reach out to me," he said, the sounds of his steps mixing with the sounds of his voice.

"Well, I know you won't tell Gordon I was here, so," my shoulders shrugged lifelessly. "Figured it was better in person than over Skype."

He came to stand beside me at the river's edge, "You drove here from Detroit?"

"No, I was in D.C. on business. Looks like I was right that you were keeping tabs on Dick, though."

"What do you want, Savannah?" he asked, changing the subject seamlessly with a tired and uninterested tone of voice.

My eyes shifted from the river to his face, inhaling sharply, "I need to know what my father is doing in Gotham—who he's partnered with. You would know better than anyone. Wouldn't you, Bruce?"

He stared at me blankly for a moment. Bruce Wayne might be what some could call the world's greatest detective, but he had never been able to hide from me. I'd been able to predict his next words since I was sixteen.

It was all in his eyes—what he chose to show and what he tried to hide. Once you muddled through all of it he was actually a fairly open book of a person. "My intel suggests he's operating some kind of villain round table," Bruce finally replied. "Penguin, Riddler, Two Face, Ivy...Joker."

" _Fuck_ ," I hissed under my breath, my eyes dropping to the gravel beneath my feet.

"Now I need something from you."

Lifting my head, I sighed lightly, "What exactly could I give you?"

"I need to know...how is he?" he asked, a bit hesitantly.

I searched his eyes for a quiet moment before looking to the river, copying Bruce's attempts to hide things he didn't want anyone else to see. To hide what I'd just found out. To hide how it made me feel.

Shrugging, I answered, "He's hurt. But he's doing his best to live with it."

"Hey, are you almost done?"

A foreign male voice came from my right, causing me to immediately turn my head in that direction. My eyes landed on a young looking brunette that was looking at us over the door of Bruce's car. Bruce sighed, obviously displeased his presence was made known.

I turned my head to look up at Bruce, emotionlessly raising an eyebrow, "That was fast—even for you."

The look he gave me I was sure was meant to be some kind of glare, but it only looked like he was a child who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The young man at the car shut his door and walked toward us. I could feel Bruce's displeasure radiating toward me.

My eyes moved back to the young man as he came to stand two feet from us. "Who're you?" he jutted his chin at me. By the tone of his voice I could tell he was not asking for my name—he was asking my vigilante identity.

It was confirmed then that Bruce had in fact taken up another Robin. I pursed my lips, "Beverly. Get back in the car, you little shit."

"Language," I could feel Bruce's eyes on me. I glanced up at him, confused by his reprimand, before looking back to the young man. Bruce reprimanded him next, "I told you to stay in the car."

"I'm Jason," the young man held out his hand to me, ignoring Bruce's words with a small smirk.

"Sorry...I have a thing about germs," I shook my head a little, keeping my free hand in the pouch of my hoodie.

"Is that what they're calling attractiveness these days?"

A small, airy sound of disbelief escaped me as he slid his hands into his jacket pockets, his smirk remaining strong on his lips. "I have a boyfriend, and you're _twelve_ ," I replied, causing him to roll his eyes at the age.

"I like older women," he shrugged innocently. "Especially when they're hot."

"And I like big dicks—what are you, _three_ inches?"

"Enough," Bruce finally stepped in, looking at me pointedly. "Is that all you needed, Miss Lawrence?"

My eyes narrowed at his address of me. Obviously, for whatever reason, he did not want this Jason kid to have anything to do with me. More specifically, he didn't want Jason anywhere near Savannah.

I nodded once and patted Bruce's shoulder, plastering a sickeningly fake smile on my face, "Yes, that will do for now. Thanks, Brucey."

My feet turned and I took steps away from him. I stopped beside Jason, leaning in and lowering my voice. "Stare at my ass and I'll cut your throat," I told him, lowly. Then I walked to my Mustang, parked a few yards away.

I pulled the door open after unlocking it, but my muscles froze up as the hairs on the nape of my neck stood skyward. Immediately my eyes shot up, over the hood of the car, and landed on the driver's side window of Bruce's car.

It was Alfred, watching me from his seat with a curious expression. In that moment it felt as though a leather buckle had been tightened around my heart, restricting its beating, causing a slight pain. I reached up a hand and tugged off my glasses.

If anything at all, it was for my own consolement, for the knowledge that he knew it was me. That he knew I was still around. I could see it on his face, the moment he knew, and I could just make out his lips forming my name before I slid into the driver's seat of the Mustang.

* * *

It was just after dark when I returned to the apartment building in D.C., once again parking behind Dick's Porsche on the side of the road. I didn't want to come back for Dick or for Dawn—but I felt a sense of obligation toward Rachel. At least, if anything, to help her to a safe place.

A permanently safe place. That, and I didn't get to see Hank before I left this afternoon. It was worth coming back just for that alone.

I pulled my duffel onto my shoulder and started into the building. Once I was in the elevator, I took off my glasses and ball cap, putting them both in my bag. The brown hair was enough of a difference to make someone who knew me raise an eyebrow.

Glasses and a hat seemed to over-do it when you took into context who exactly I was going to be seeing for who knew how long. The doors opened on the third floor and my feet carried me down the long hallway to apartment 304.

However, before I'd even actually reached the apartment, the door swung open. Rachel stared at me with surprised but relieved features, "You came back."

"I'll always come back for you," I replied, tiredly, stopping just before the door.

"Hugging you is a bad idea, isn't it?" she smiled sheepishly at me.

I nodded, "Probably."

"Screw it."

She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around my middle, attaching her body to mine like a human personification of a leach. I grunted simply from the force that hit my abdomen. There was a heat in my chest but, surprisingly, it wasn't painful.

In fact, it felt good. Slowly I put my arms around her to reciprocate her hug as the ghost of a smile threatened to appear on my lips. This girl had been abandoned and hunted by everyone. It wouldn't be hard to understand why she was happy I came back.

Especially after the abrupt and unpleasant way I left, after i'd seen one of her visions—she probably thought it was her fault. A bubble of guilt popped in my stomach at the thought.

After a moment, a distinct male voice pulled us apart. "Oh, great, there's hugging," it was Hank, ambling to the door. "No one thought to invite _me_ , huh?"

My heart lit up upon seeing him after so long. "Hey, asshole," I grinned up at him. He smiled back, huffing an airy chuckle at my words.

"Been a while...uh...wow, you're not so _red_ anymore, are you?" he squinted at me, perplexed by the change, confused by what he was supposed to call me now.

I stepped past Rachel and threw my arms around his neck, rising up on my toes to do so. It forced him to bend down a little but he didn't seem to mind. He groaned as he wrapped his arms around my torso tightly and lifted.

My boots left the ground by a solid two or three inches. I couldn't help giggling a little as he turned and took a few steps into the apartment. "Look who I found publicly displaying affection in the hallway," he said, to whoever would listen.

Rachel closed the apartment door behind us. "Well, your koala child returns," I heard Dawn say, lightheartedly in tone, from somewhere off to the left.

Rachel chuckled, "Koala child?"

"I like tall people, okay?" I replied, sarcastically.

"You're just short enough it works," Hank said, as he put me down. "And you're as heavy as a used paperclip."

I nodded once, "Thanks, Grandpa. I've been doing two-forty lately—works wonders."

"Dick's on the couch and Rachel has the spare room," Dawn said, as she came to the living room from the master bedroom. "But i'm sure you could-"

"She doesn't sleep."

The voice from behind me I knew to belong to Dick. Dawn was perplexed by his words, a little disbelieving in her expression. "Ever?" she questioned, curiously.

"Pretty much," I nodded to her question. Then I turned my head to see Dick, who was standing at the guest bedroom doorway to my right, and said spitefully, "Fuck off."

Hank laughed, causing Dawn to give him a disapproving look. Sighing, Hank gestured for me to follow as he started toward the back of the apartment, "Come on, you can hang out on the roof."

"Great, thanks," I smiled a little and followed him.

The rooftop offered an aesthetic view of D.C., with an old bench put near the end to gaze at it all. Hank walked me to the bench. I dropped my bag beside it and took a seat, dropping my weight into the old metal. "Got a little lover's spat going on, huh?" Hank said, nudging my boot with his foot.

Sighing, I leaned against the back of the bench. At my lack of reply Hank took the initiative to sit on the bench on the other side of me. He mirrored my position, sitting back in a relaxed pose, and looked out at the city in the silence.

He knew exactly what was going on. After all, the apprehension was rolling off him in waves when we'd been in the apartment with Dick. Hank didn't want to be around him either.

Slowly, I exhaled, "I know you know Dick and Dawn slept together. But did you know that he lied to me about it?"

"That fucking prick _cheated_ on you?"

"Not technically, I don't think. We were...kind of broken up. It was an implied separation but no one really said it officially. But...he hid it from me for almost four years," I slowly shook my head as I spoke, in my own world of disbelief.

I couldn't believe he'd do such a thing. But, then again, he'd been able to hide being Robin from me for much longer than four years. Hank snorted, shaking his head, "He's still a fucking shithead that needs bitch-slapped."

"I'm with you on that one."

Leaning down, I unzipped my duffel bag. Inside, under my glasses and ball cap, was a bottle of whiskey. I pulled it out and sat upright with it in my hands, and then set it in my lap to open the lid. It'd become a habit of mine—drinking.

Alcohol numbed my body to the point where I couldn't hear the voices, I couldn't see the deaths, and I couldn't find the bodies. It was the edge I needed in order to keep Dick's no-kill rule for so long.

Once I got the lid off, I took a long pull from the bottle. The liquid burned down my throat and I could feel the moment it reached my stomach. Finally I lowered the bottle from my lips, wiping my chin with the sleeve of my hoodie, and I offered it to Hank.

"Wanna drink?" I asked, being mostly rhetorical.

I knew he'd want to drink—Hank always wanted to drink. In that moment I was a struggling alcoholic helping another struggling alcoholic be an alcoholic. But I didn't think about it. I didn't care. I just wanted to stop feeling.

Drinking as much as I did on that rooftop made everything go numb—not just my abilities. Everything was blurring together in my vision and I struggled to sit upright. Hank hadn't drunk as much as I had. He was level-headed enough still to tell me to stop, that I'd had enough.

Without being too delicate, he took the almost empty bottle from my hands and put it on the ground on his side of the bench so I couldn't reach it. "Shit, Savannah," he pushed himself off the bench with a groan and stood in front of me. "You're fucking plastered."

"W-w-why doyouh-have to b-bee s-s-such agood-d ggguy?" I drunkenly slurred, making a sound of disgust I could only psychically achieve while drunk.

Hank grabbed my wrists and tugged me up off the bench, and I teetered on my feet, leaning into him heavily. He kept his arms around me as we made our way to the rooftop access door. We traveled through the door and I nearly tumbled down the stairs multiple times.

You'd think, for someone so in touch with what they feel, it would be terrifying to get drunk and not be able to feel anything at all. But, in fact, it was the exact opposite. It felt freeing.

We'd made it inside the apartment when everyone else was asleep. All the lights were off, but there was enough light echoing in the windows from the streetlights to be able to find our way. Hank was going to take me to the guest room.

"Rachel won't mind," he assured me, whispering as we passed the couch.

"I'm-m fffine," I protested, pulling away from him. "Jjjust gotobed-d."

I pushed away from him, and it seemed he only let me go because he was curious as to what exactly I planned on doing. Clearly, I'd taken trying to get numb incredibly too far. Mostly because my first instinct was to go to the couch.

Drunkenly, I laid flush with Dick's front to fit, wrapping my arms around his middle as I buried my face in his shirt. I could feel Dick adjust his position before not moving at all for a short moment. Then, slowly, his arms moved to encircle me.

The sensation I fell asleep to was the warmth of his lips pressing a kiss to the top of my icy forehead. And in that intoxicated moment it felt like nothing had changed. Like I didn't know a secret that broke my heart. Like I wasn't angry or sad.

Then morning came and the feeling of amnesia—along with the feeling of freedom—washed out of my body with the sunlight from the living room windows. It wasn't surprising I didn't have any visions. I typically didn't when I was that drunk.

It made my body feel worse having so much sleep after so little for so long. My muscles were tense, even a little sore, as I moved to sit up. The first thing I noticed was Dick's absence. He didn't appear to be anywhere in the apartment from what I could see.

The part of me that was conditioned to worry, conditioned to pay attention to him, was curious as to just where he could've gone and why. But I squashed that weakness before it had the chance to make its home in the forefront of my mind.

Instead of dwelling on it, I pushed myself up to my feet and shuffled to the roof access. There was no way I would stay longer than I had to inside the apartment. From what I could tell everyone else was asleep. No one would notice my absence for a while.

I climbed the stairs and pushed through the door to the roof. Immediately I was hit with a cold breeze. It felt like knives slicing the skin of my cheekbones and something heavy hitting my face simultaneously.

My bag was still there on the roof, nestled against the side of the bench. I made my way across the gravel to the seating space and lowered myself to sit, before dragging the duffel around to a place in front of my feet.

I dug out my coat and pulled it on over my hoodie. It was childish of me to keep that hoodie. But it held too much sentimental value to throw it away—no matter how petty I wanted to be.

When we were younger, I'd received this hoodie as a Christmas gift from Dick. That same Christmas I'd gotten him a similar hoodie but with a Batman logo instead. We hadn't planned it, yet somehow it happened so timely.

Knowing he was prowling the streets at night as Robin made it easy to decide on that hoodie as a gift. Back then, I was so reckless. Untameable. My father received many comments—good and bad—regarding my fiery spirit.

That fire was all but put out the moment I'd been arrested. After Arkham, there was virtually nothing remaining of who I'd been before. I didn't know who that made me if I wasn't her. Thinking on it, that was most likely why I originally wanted to live my life as someone else.

I could've hidden out somewhere for the rest of my days as Savannah Syren, the serial killer escapee from Arkham Asylum, and died with that legacy in peace. But instead I chose to integrate myself back into society under an alias.

Beverly Lawrence appeared in Gotham City two years after Savannah Syren had vanished from the world. The manhunt had only died down slightly, though it was enough to return if I'd been different enough. No one knew my new name.

No one but Dick. Eventually, due to bloody circumstances, Bruce Wayne became aware of my existence. For reasons I did not know he chose to keep my secret. Bruce had never liked me in the slightest, so it was certainly a surprise.

My best guess was that he'd felt obligated to for Dick's sake. At the time, and maybe even a little bit now, that made sense to me. After a little while of sitting on the bench alone, I heard the whining of the rooftop access door opening.

I'd hoped it was Hank, maybe even Rachel. But it was neither. "Hank said you drank a little too much last night," Dawn's voice filled my ears, getting closer. Every syllable grated against my nerves.

Her voice reminded me of why I was angry—I saw the compilation of flashes on the insides of my eyelids, burning themselves into my skin. "What of it?" I grumbled, gritting my teeth.

Dawn came to stand just beside the bench, angled just slightly in front of me, but I kept my eyes straight ahead on the other buildings. "I thought you might like some tea—it'll help any hangover symptoms you might have," she explained, calmly, causing me to give her a glance.

In her hands was a steaming mug, the tab of a tea bag hanging over the side. She took a sidestep forward to offer it to me. Exhaling a huff of air, I reached up a hand and took the mug from her, slinking back into my seat on the bench quickly.

"I don't get hangovers," I told her, my eyes straight ahead again. "But thanks, I guess."

Dawn inhaled, and I could sense a monologue coming on, "Look...I don't know why Dick didn't tell you about what happened between us. But he should've told you. I'm really sorry you had to find out like this-"

"Stop. If you think we're going to talk it over and end up hugging it out as best friends who realized they care about each other more than a misunderstanding, you're fucking delusional," I interrupted, speaking spitefully.

"Your problem is with Dick—so why do you insist on taking your anger out on _me_?" Dawn questioned, sounding a mixture of hurt and confused.

It was a very good question. One I expected but secretly hoped no one would ask. Finally, I turned my eyes to her face, holding the warm mug in my lap, "Every time I look at you...every time I hear your _voice_...all I can see is you two fucking. I don't need that in my head any more than it already is."

She looked full of sympathy, of remorse. It was etched deeply into her features. Dawn had always been a kind, caring person that always treated me decently when we were in the same room—typically when no one else did.

Despite knowing my history she treated me with respect that I did not deserve. It hurt me, deep down, to treat her like an enemy. But I couldn't stop myself from resenting her a little in my heart for the things I saw in my mind.

Dawn did the only thing she could and left me alone on the roof. It was the smart option. After a short while, Hank came to the roof and told me that he was going to be surveilling a warehouse across town where a gun deal would take place.

In his announcement of coming actions, he asked if I wanted to go with him. Considering I had nothing else to do while I was in D.C. I eagerly accepted the idea. It had been quite a long time since I'd last held a camera in my hands.

But it didn't at all feel unusual to be using one again—instead, it was as though I had never stopped using cameras years ago. My fingers found the right settings and then the device was resting in my hands, holding it just above the window sill of Hank's van.

From what i'd seen, taking down these dealers would be easy enough. I had no intention of joining Hank and Dawn on their mission but it did not surprise me that Hank was trying to subtly bring me into the fold.

It was his way of asking me to join without actually having to ask. "It was probably pretty awkward waking up on the couch with Dick," Hank spoke somewhat quietly, bitterly over pronouncing Dick.

"He wasn't there when I woke up," I replied.

I pulled the camera from the window to my lap as I began to look through the photos i'd taken, yet still kept an eye on the movement outside the vehicle. "Why do you still follow him around?" Hank questioned, genuinely perplexed.

His words caused me to sigh, lifting my head to glance at him with a tired expression. "If you're under the impression that he has me on a leash, then fuck you," I responded, neutrally. "I didn't follow him anywhere—we moved to Detroit together. As for why, I honestly don't know anymore."

* * *

Hank opened the back door of the apartment and held it for me as I walked through. I stepped into the apartment and Hank did after me, letting the door fall closed behind the both of us. If he hadn't have said anything, I would never have noticed.

But it was just like Hank to be vocal about his anger—and his disgust. "Well, isn't this cozy?" he commented, venomously rhetorical. The words drew my attention to the right, in the direction of the kitchen area.

Dick and Dawn were sitting closely at the table. They'd obviously just pulled apart in some way or another—I could tell by the way Dawn was still retracting her hand when I turned to look. My eyes flitted between the two of them for a moment as Dawn scooted her chair back from the table.

Part of me was not surprised. But the rest of me was vibrating on the same frequency as Hank's blind rage. "Just like the old days," Hank said, taking slow steps into the kitchen area.

"We were just talking things through, okay?" Dick replied, slightly annoyed by Hank's words.

Though he was responding to Hank, Dick's eyes shifted in my direction, like he was explaining himself to me rather than him. I kept my arms at my sides, my features slack. There was no way I could outwardly react that was pleasant.

My temperament was frequently determined by other people. I reacted to reactions. With Hank practically fuming, it felt like I was a grenade missing its pin. The second I opened my mouth I would explode. Dawn looked at me cautiously.

Her gaze was almost begging, pleading with me to see their innocence. Pleading with me to see it, explain it to Hank, and maybe stop this whole scenario from exploding with me. And in that moment, I narrowed my eyes—and I could feel it click.

Finally, I spoke up, "You have to hold hands for that?"

My head turned almost mechanically in order to move my disapproving and skeptical gaze from Dawn to Dick. He visibly tensed from what I'd said. Dick knew better than anyone just what was going to happen here.

"Can we talk? Alone?" Dick asked me, with a serious expression. " _Please_?"

"Come on, Hank, let's go," Dawn stood, quickly moving toward Hank.

She tried to turn him and, at first, he resisted. But he did turn away and saunter off toward the master bedroom with Dawn in toe. They'd cleared the kitchen quickly—and it was most likely the smartest thing to do in that situation.

I gestured with my hands out at my sides once they'd disappeared. "You wanna talk? Talk. Tell me why you keep lying to me," I said, tone vaguely bitter. "Why did you think not telling me about you and Dawn was a good idea?"

"Anna, I can explain-"

"Then explain it!" I rose my voice in frustration.

He sighed heavily through his nostrils, then gestured to the chair Dawn had been sitting in, "Please, just sit, and let's _talk_ —okay? No yelling."

Anger was boiling in my veins, but something else accompanied it—something a little more saddening, a little more painful. He had no idea how much what he'd done, and continued to do, hurt me. I didn't know if I could even explain it if I tried.

But I took steps forward and dropped into the chair. Scooting it toward the table, I angled myself toward Dick at my left. "Talk," I spoke through gritted teeth, folding my arms atop the table.

Dick inhaled sharply, leaning into the table a little, "I didn't want to tell you about Dawn because I was worried what it would do to you. When we got back together, you were in a really bad place-"

"That's no excuse," I shook my head. "I'm never not in a bad place."

"I didn't want you to relapse, okay? It was hard enough to see you like that the first time. I didn't want you to have to go through that—and especially not because of something stupid _I_ did."

I could read the hints of honesty in his eyes. He was telling the truth that he was in fact worried I would do something harmful to myself. But that was obviously not the true reason. It wasn't the whole truth.

The way he held himself, how rigid his body was, told me he was holding something back. It pained me that even now as we were trying to talk about why he lied, he was still lying. "What aren't you telling me?" I questioned.

There was a vague sting in my eyes, a burning in my throat. Anger turned to hurt. Hurt turned to sadness. Sadness turned to tears. He shrugged up his shoulders, "There's nothing else-"

"For once in your life, be _honest_ with me," I was all but begging, my cheeks burning from the water draining through my eyes now.

"I'm not good at the staying with people part," he admitted, quietly.

I leaned forward a little more, "Care about _me_ more."

"You don't understand," he started, causing me to sit back in my chair. My eyes became downcast as he continued, crying silently with the knowledge of where this was going. "I'm no good at family, I can't-"

"It's simple."

I lifted my head to look at him. He was paused mid-sentence, staring at me like that as the situation sunk in. There was nothing else for me to say. Nothing for either of us to say. So I stood and left the room.


	4. Down We Go

_**I WENT TO THE LIVING ROOM.**_ It was the closest room from the kitchen area I could escape to, though I was on my way to the roof access. There was a shriek of metal on tile at my back before I heard my name.

My muscles threatened to become completely rigid. I needed air, I needed to breathe. If I was confronted yet again, most likely I would truly explode this time. I could feel it in the tension in my shoulders and the pressure between my eyes.

"Remember, we agreed to start communicating," Dick said, somewhere behind me. "Walking out isn't exactly communicating."

With a sigh weighted with dread, I came to a stop and forced myself to turn around, "There's nothing left to say, Dick. It sounds pretty clear to me."

Dick stood just inside the living room, inches outside the kitchen area. Movement in the corner of my eye caused my head to turn to the right. Rachel was slowly opening the guest room door to poke her head out, her eyes shifting between us.

This was not a conversation to have in front of a child. Especially not one going through what Rachel was going through currently. "This doesn't mean I don't _love_ you, Savannah," Dick spoke quietly, in a voice of worry.

His words caused me pause. I tilted my head a little as I thought about his previous words and the ones he'd just spoken—it seemed there was a contradiction. "No. You just don't love me enough to be honest and committed," I replied, as calmly as I could.

My eyes were narrowed as I stared at him skeptically. Dick sighed heavily through his nose and glanced between Rachel and I in indecision, as though he'd just noticed her there. His eyes settled on my face, shifting his weight between his feet.

"Come on, Anna—you know that's not true," he shook his head.

"If you really loved me at all you would stop fucking lying!" I shouted slightly, the anger i'd felt from before rising again in my stomach. "God, do you _ever_ stop?"

"Keeping in contact in college. Being there for you after you escaped Arkham. Taking care of you for three months while you got over the drugs. Getting you help when you cut yourself-"

"What the fuck is your point?" I interrupted, growling the words.

" _That_ is commitment, Savannah. Why would I stick with you for all of that if I didn't love you enough?" he spat the words at me, frustrated. " _You_ were the one who wanted to take a break, _not_ me."

I spoke venomously, "Oh, bullshit! You got tired of me just like everyone else! Admit it—you got bored. I was broken and bruised and I was easy to walk over."

"Why are you so hellbent on making this about _you_?!" Dick was shouting, too, now.

" _Hey_!" Hank bellowed from the master bedroom, only moments before he sauntered into the living room. He glared at Dick angrily. "Keep your fucking voice down when you talk to her."

Dick made a face, "Yeah, because you're the perfect example of how a man talks to a woman."

Hank mumbled some obscenities under his breath and made to charge forward. My hand shot out and latched onto his thick bicep, stopping him. Hank Hall was over six feet tall and easily twice my weight in muscle.

Realistically, there was no way I could keep him from breaking Dick over his knee. Not unless he wanted to be stopped. Hank took a step back, staying at my side as I had silently requested.

My eyes remained on Dick. For a moment Dick had flinched and reclined on his heels, preparing to be met with an unstoppable force. But he relaxed with surprise etching his features when Hank didn't make it two steps past my position.

"Give me one good fucking reason why I shouldn't let him break you in half right now," I told Dick, through clenched teeth.

"Savannah...this was never about me not loving you, or not wanting to commit. We have things to work through together, but I have things I need to work through on my own," Dick explained, calmly.

"That's convenient," Rachel suddenly mumbled, catching my attention.

I raised an eyebrow at her, and her eyes shifted across all the faces in the room—just noticing anyone heard her words at all. Dick narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow, turning to her. "What's convenient?" he questioned, already offended.

"You get to do all this hurtful, messed up stuff to Savannah and then blame it on your daddy issues," Rachel shrugged, folding her arms over her chest as she spoke. "It's real convenient for you."

"She's got a point," Hank tipped his head in an expression.

I could feel it again—the anger radiating off him. But, this time, it felt different. This time, most of the anger swirling within me was my own. It was anger and confusion and hurt all at the same time.

"No one asked for your opinion," Dick spat at Hank.

"It's my fucking house—did you forget that already?" Hank spat back.

Dawn quickly joined the hectic mess, standing by the doorway into the master bedroom, "All of you, stop this. There's no need for an apartment-wide argument."

"Especially when it has nothing to do with anyone but me and Savannah," Dick added, pointedly, while giving Hank a stern look.

Hank was fuming beside me. My hand still rested on his arm, but the bubbling chaos made me question why. A heat was in my chest, a pressure between my eyes, a throbbing at the base of my skull. I'd felt this before.

I'd felt it many, many times. It was my body's own call to action given to my conscious mind. The muscles and nerves in my hands begun to shake. With closed eyes, the voices of all in the room combined into one mess of sound.

It was a rubber band ball of nonsense and irritation. The pressure between my eyes intensified as did the shaking of my hands in a steady increase, causing the mess of voices to pool in the center of my mind with a burning heat.

The burning throbbed and stung and it was utterly painful. It was too much anymore—I'd had enough. " _Stop_!" I shouted the word. I felt the pressure between my eyes shift to my forehead as my shaking hand was lifted by my arm.

It all happened in a second. I lifted my hand, the pressure shifted, and the heat in my mind ripped through the muscles in my arms and in my hands, bursting from my palms. The energy the heat possessed seemed to possess me.

Whatever it was grabbed hold of Dick and shoved him backward rather forcefully, his feet ghosting the ground as his body was flung into the wall a few feet behind him. The loud smack echoing off the wall from the impact startled me out of my possession.

Gasps filled the room, along with Dick's groans of pain as he writhed on the floor at the base of the wall. Rachel and Dawn rushed forward to get to him. A sickening guilt was pooling in my gut but I could not move. I could only blink at the scene before me.

Hank immediately turned to me, his eyes lingering on the scene in shock a second longer before moving to my face. His arms encircled me and he angled himself in front of me. "Come on, let's go," he spoke quietly, though I could tell he was a bit panicked.

I went with him, however in shock I was. He guided me to the roof access and up the stairs to the door, through it out onto the roof and across the gravel to the bench. I'd sat slowly, my mind working its way through the images of what had just happened.

There was nothing in my memory of what exactly had come from my hand, if anything at all. But whatever it was left a numbing in my palm. My body felt worn, fatigued, eyelids weighted down as though I might actually be tired.

Hank remained on his feet, pacing loosely in front of the bench as he inhaled and exhaled heavily. It was obvious he was trying to process what he'd seen as well. I looked down at my hands in my lap and fingered my numb palm.

Nothing like that had every happened before. The mild feelings prior to the heat in my mind were all too familiar—I felt them anytime I needed to kill someone. I could recognize it anywhere. Then the feelings got stronger and I did something much worse than killing.

Suddenly my heart lurched, and my eyes snapped up to Hank, following him as he paced, "Is Dick okay? Is he hurt?"

"I don't know, alright? Just...focus on calming down."

It all swirled around in my head, the thoughts of worry and the realization of my own fear. I began to wring my hands nervously, as my view of the gravel at my feet began to blur rapidly, a pain hitting my chest as though it were a brick.

I was angry, I was so angry—but I would never hurt him. Not intentionally. And yet, there I was, feeling the pain of a strangled sob from the raw horror mixing with my guilt of doing just that. My lungs burned like I'd been running all afternoon.

A nausea in my gut was making me physically ill. "Hank..." I sat back on the bench, looking up at him through the tears burning my eyes. "What have I done?"

He stopped his pace to glance in my direction, but his gaze held at the sight of me. Another sob was bubbling its way out of me and I had to look away. I was disgusted with myself above all else. The one person I swore never to hurt, had been hurt.

The bench shifted beneath me as Hank eased his weight onto the metal beside me. A second following, his hand gently slid onto my shoulder. He didn't speak. I didn't blame him. Comforting people wasn't his strong suit, especially when he was this far out of his element.

We sat there on the bench like that for a long time. Eventually, Hank needed to go find Dawn so they could prepare for their mission later that night. He stood to leave, and in the few steps he'd taken from the bench I stood as well.

"I'm going in, too," I announced, in a weak voice.

Hank stopped, turning to see me, "You sure that's a good idea?"

"I need to see him."

He sighed, but didn't try to stop me. I trailed behind him into the apartment as the night sky was beginning to meld with that of the day. My hands were still shaking from earlier, but for a different reason now.

Rachel was in the guest room on the bed with the door open, and she perked up when Hank and I reentered the apartment. Hank made an immediate turn for the master bedroom upon not seeing Dawn in the living room.

I took slow steps onward, getting slower by the second. Rachel jutted her chin, moving her eyes, obviously trying to get my attention on something specific. It drew my eyes down and to the right—straight to the couch.

It was where Dick lay stretched along the length of the piece of furniture, an arm draped over the ice packs on his torso. Whatever I'd done had been worse, yet still better, than I had anticipated.

His eyes were gently closed, his breathing slow and calm, giving him the appearance of slumber. I took slow, careful steps around the side of the couch, moving between the couch and the coffee table, and lowered myself atop the coffee table.

There was nothing I could've said that would justify what I'd done to him, or validate it in any way. At least, not in my mind. So I said nothing. I extended a trembling hand and brushed my fingertips through the tousled locks of hair on his forehead.

Instinctively his eyelids fluttered up, his brown irises shifting up to my face. His features were washed with an instant reaction of what appeared to be guilt. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly.

"For what?" I questioned, knitting my brows in confusion.

"I shouldn't have pushed you."

My head found itself leaning in a slight tilt to the left as my dry eyes searched his tired ones. "Richard John Grayson..." I whispered, unable to speak any louder. "How the fuck would I live without you?"

The ghost of a smirk met Dick's lips, "Probably the same way I'd live without you—I wouldn't."

"Where were you hurt?" I asked, righting myself to glance over the ice packs.

Dick shifted, letting out a groan as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, easing his legs off the side of the couch. "My ribs and back, mostly," he answered, once upright.

He removed the ice packs and set them aside before unbuttoning his dark blue dress shirt. The skin that was revealed with every button's release was splattered with purple marks. I inhaled sharply, "Fuck, Dick."

"It's not as bad as it looks," he tried to reassure, lifting his head to give me a confident look. He reached out and grasped my hand, then guided the pads of my fingers to the purple marks just below his chest. "See? It doesn't even hurt anymore."

"I'm so sorry," I slowly shook my head.

"Well, I...I kind of deserved it."

"That doesn't make it right."

With a light exhale, Dick's shoulders loosened. The hand not holding mine came to rest on my cheek a moment before sliding to the back of my neck. He tugged gently as his upper body tilted forward. I could see it coming like a train crash.

It was loud, and bright, and obvious. But I couldn't stop it. I didn't want to stop it. After the emotional roller coaster of the day, all I craved was his touch—I craved to be close to him. So my lips parted as they met his, deepening the kiss before it'd truly begun.

I pulled away after a short moment, but our faces remained inches apart as I spoke quietly, "We agreed to work on this. So we'll work on it. If you try to stay honest, I'll try not to make it about me. We're going to slip up and make mistakes. But we'll give it all we have."

"We'll make it work," he agreed, just as quietly.

"Sorry to interrupt your face sucking session," Hank's voice echoed into my ears at a seemingly loud volume, causing me to lift my head for my eyes to find him. He was taking steps toward the end of the couch, coming to a stand there.

He was dressed to leave, Dawn dressed and ready as well behind him. I knew what he was going to ask. He would not open his mouth to voice it, but the question was in his eyes— _are you coming?_

I sat back in my spot on the coffee table and gave a small shake of my head, "You guys go ahead."

"Alright. I'll try to save some ass for you in case you change your mind," Hank said, as Dawn came to stand beside him.

"That's very thoughtful of you."

He grumbled a little as he turned to walk toward the door, but I could see the threat of a smile clearly on his lips before he turned away. It wasn't hard to detect his disappointment. After all, we hadn't fought together in almost four years.

Every time thus far had been an enjoyable experience. I didn't know quite what it was, but something about the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, drew me into it. Our dynamic has always been one I adored.

Dawn gave Dick and I each a look before following Hank to the front door of the apartment. My eyes followed along as well, before a tightness on my hand brought them back to Dick's face. His lips were upturned in a minor grin, "Go with them."

"Why?" I raised a brow at him.

"I can tell you want to. It's okay, Anna. You can't be someone you're not—I get it. You don't have to pretend anymore," he explained, genuine and gentle.

I pushed on the coffee table to lean forward again, pressing my lips to his in a quick kiss, "I love you."

"I love you, too. Watch them."

I'd given a singular nod before standing. Dick knew better than anyone that I was not at risk when walking into the line of fire. Dawn and Hank, however—Hank especially—were not invulnerable. My hood was stashed at the bottom of my duffel.

It only took me a moment to grab the bag before running after Hank and Dawn. They'd just reached the elevator when I exited the apartment. Hank noticed me first, acknowledging me with a warm and proud smile.

"Look who's had a change of heart," he said, as I quickly approached.

I readjusted the duffel's strap on my shoulder just as I arrived at Hank and Dawn's position, moments before Dawn turned to see me. She, too, smiled at me. "Glad to have your help," she nodded once. "It'll make this a lot easier."

"As long as Dick's not going, put me wherever you want me," I nodded back.

Hank grinned, "Sounds like a party."

* * *

I had never been one for a mask. The idea of concealing my identity seemed ridiculous when you factored it all in. No one was looking for me anymore, as those who saw my face typically found themselves in a very dark, cold place.

There was no need for a mask. My hair was pulled back and held behind my neck with a holder, keeping it tucked out of my way beneath the red hood atop my head. I made sure my knives were in their usual places as I followed Hawk and Dove.

We were inside the warehouse, getting in position to take out the gunmen at the back of a van. A very small handful of men stood around it or performed various tasks in the immediate vicinity. Just by looking, I could tell which ones were going to die.

It was a certain vibration in my chest, an instinct deep within my gut—I knew. We waited behind a line of crates and supplies a moment to watch and time our entrance. In that moment, I counted. Six men. It didn't seem like enough to me.

They were shorthanded. It made me curious as to what crime syndicate really would have this little security. Suddenly Hawk gave the signal before tackling one of the men just around the corner of our hiding space.

"Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shi-!"

Dove jumped out next, but I waited a moment longer. Something didn't feel right. It was a tightness in my chest, a souring in my gut—something, or someone, was wrong. I heard the loud pierce of gunfire and a shatter of glass echo throughout the building.

Then I twisted to see around the hiding space. All the men were on the floor and a back window of the van was broken through. "Dick was wrong—there's only a few of 'em!" Hank said, as he yanked open a van door. He pulled something out from the back, something I couldn't see. "Oh, yeah. Wisconsin, here we come."

A thrum of my heart faltered, almost as if it hiccuped in my chest, the second a lone gun shot broke through the silence. A hole appeared in the left front of Hawk's chest and he was thrusted backward against the van. "Hank!" Dove shouted, reached for him quickly.

I yanked my torso back behind the hiding space. My chest was heaving, the blood in my veins burning as they raced through my body. This was not right. Something still felt wrong. It was almost as though I could not move.

Instead I was stuck listening to the gunfire, waiting for my friends to end up dead. Though, I knew very well they would not die here today, something in me was still struck with a heart-racing adrenaline.

Finally, as the gunfire shifted, I forced my feet to move. I slinked along the wall of small crates and various supplies toward the end and leapt up, my fingers locking around the metal railing of a second level walkway.

I tugged myself up and over the edge, onto the walkway, and slid back against the wall before standing up. From above, I could see all. Hawk and Dove scurried to the front of the van to hide from the gunmen at the back. But the gunmen were moving around the sides.

They stormed in from both sides, easily a dozen or more strong, and aimed their guns directly at Hawk and Dove where they huddled against the grill. "Shit," Hawk said, reasonably displeased.

So much for 'Dick was wrong'. Obviously they'd been warned. If I'd been made aware of such a possibility, I would've prepared properly. My heart still pounded in my chest as I treaded lightly across the walkway, closer to the action.

A man walked up from around the backside of the van. "Where were we?" he said, as he came to stand in front, causing Hank to groan. I'd been trained long and hard in the art of not making unnecessary sounds. No one knew where I was.

 _Your enemy only hears what you want him to hear_. I made it to the end of the walkway and gripped the railing there, sending my feet through the opening below the bar. "Oh, yes," the man said, now holding a pair of sheers. "I believe your pants were coming down."

My body was catapulted through the opening and down to the ground level. I touched the concrete on my feet briefly before rolling forward, using my momentum to gain more ground. As I stood just behind two gunmen, my knives dropped free from my leather sleeves.

Their handles slid quickly into my palms, and I gripped them tightly as I reached my full height. In a quick jut of my arms, the blades flew forward and then back again, slicing the sides of the necks of the gunmen at my sides.

Hot crimson spewed from the wounds rapidly and the men yelped, dropping their guns and scrambling for their necks. Ultimately, they fell to the concrete floor in a pool.

The knife in my right hand was sent into a chest, the other a neck. Other available gunmen either ran or chose to fire back. I ducked the spray of bullets, moving under cover of the front of the van, as my hands shot to the belt at my back.

My fingers gripped tightly to knife handles and I tugged them free, pulling them out from under the hood as I twisted to miss getting shot in the shoulder. With a flick of my wrist I disabled the only shooter remaining.

His gun clattered to the ground and he held tightly to the knife handle protruding from his chest before collapsing. The knife in my right hand was sunk deep into center chest of the man who seemed to know Hawk.

I turned the blade, feeling the warm vibration spreading up my arms with the blood spilling from his wounds, before relinquishing my hold on the knife. Instead, I gripped either side of the man's head and twisted— _hard_.

The man's body collapsed, a thud echoing across the now nearly silent warehouse. I was breathing heavily but, unlike before, this adrenaline felt warm. It felt right.

"Holy fuck," Hawk said, in shock, after a beat of quiet. "What the _fuck_?"

I reached up a hand and pushed the hood off my head as I turned to see Hawk and Dove where they still huddled. Even in the quiet, I could feel it. There was another wave of vibration crawling up my spine. More were to die.

My fingertips itched with a familiar sting, and I knew—Dick was here. "It's not over," I gave a shake of my head. A sudden burst of gunfire ripped through the silence of the warehouse.

Both Hawk and Dove startled by the sudden sound but I did not flinch. There was no need to, I saw it coming. "Get him out of here," I said to Dove, as I pulled the hood back over my head. "Now."

I bent and tugged the knife from the chest of the man beside my feet before taking steps deeper into the warehouse. The cries of dying men in my ears, echoing from random places in the warehouse, lead my way.

Dick, dressed as Robin, was found cornering a man at the back of warehouse. He was beating him with his own gun. A final hit to the side of the head with it sprayed red across one of the dirty warehouse windows.

I watched the man drop to the ground without a word. Usually, I was not a woman of many words during such times as these. There was nothing to be said. Robin turned around to march after another shooter, but his feet shuffled to a quick stop when he noticed me.

"Why aren't you with Hank and Dawn?" he questioned, breathing heavily from the exertion.

"You know you can't kill people and hide it from me."

I could not tell if he was sighing heavily or simply trying to breathe, but he didn't look amused. "Where are the others?" he asked, changing the subject.

Tilting my head slightly to the left, I answered, "Just one. Over my shoulder, behind the wall."

Robin nodded and began to take steps. But I reached out as he started to pass me, placing my gloved palm against the front of his shoulder. He stopped his movement almost instantly, his dark eyes looking at me with confusion through his mask.

I reached up my free hand and swiped some of the blood away from his lips with the pads of my fingers. "It's not his time. We need to leave," I told him, calmly. "You've done your part, Boy Wonder."

Though he was slightly out of breath and full of adrenaline, radiating with the anger he only unleashed when in a mask, he still found it within himself to give a small smirk in response. I would be the first girl to admit his anger was attractive.

But he used it for all the wrong reasons. He didn't have to say a word for it to be painfully obvious. I took a step away from him before starting the walk back to where I'd left Hawk and Dove. I'd trusted he would follow me, and he did.

* * *

We arrived back at the apartment building, dressed in the civilian clothes we'd left in, and the four of us rode the elevator in silence. The general feeling in the air at the center of us all was apprehension.

It was understandable, considering all that Hank and Dawn had just seen. I was not quite so violent the last time we'd fought together. Then, I was under strict supervision with a tight leash. I did not kill. I barely harmed.

Now, I am free to do whatever my body wishes. If I must kill, I kill. If I must show restraint, I will. It did more than just _seem_ a simple concept to me—but it _felt_ simple. It felt simple in every fiber of my being.

The tension of awkwardness kept Hank's eyes downcast, Dick's also. Dawn seemed slightly unnerved by the whole event but she showed no effort of restraint when glancing across the elevator at me. Her eyes flitted downward from my face, and I knew what she was looking at.

Dick's left arm had been draped across my shoulders for the duration of the elevator ride, my right shoulder flush against his side—a position that felt so natural, so instinctual. But something hovered across Dawn's face when her eyes shifted.

Something I understood. It was the briefest of glances before she decided to look elsewhere, down at the floor or up at the wall, but it was long enough to give my mind new thoughts.

The elevator doors slid open on the third floor then. Hank and Dawn lead the way to the apartment door at the end of the hall. Being the one with the keys, Hank unlocked the door as we arrived, and he left it open for the rest of us as he started in first.

Dawn stopped by the door, holding it while she waited for Dick and I to enter so she could close it. The moment we stepped inside, Dick called out for Rachel. He pulled away from me to step toward the guest bedroom upon not seeing her in the living room.

I didn't have to look anywhere to know just where she was. Her melancholy vibrations and the heat that usually came with her proximity both pooled in my chest. "She's on the roof," I said, as Dick stepped out of the empty guest room.

His features were contorted with confusion, obviously as to why she would be up there alone, but he gave a relieved exhale as he nodded. "How do you know that?" Dawn asked me, after closing the apartment door and turning the lock.

"I can feel her there," I answered, simply.

"I'm sorry— _feel_?" Hank raised an eyebrow at me, half in and half out of the master bedroom, obviously to listen in for my answer.

I inhaled sharply, "Yes. Every person, every…living thing carries a certain vibrative frequency. Some are strong, some weak. I feel them all. If I focus on one in particular, I can determine a location."

"Jesus Christ," Hank swore under his breath, before disappearing into the master bedroom. From somewhere inside, his voice boomed out, "This just gets better by the second!"

We'd fought together a handful of times, but the full nature of my existence was never explained to either of them. So this reaction was truly understandable. Nodding once, I excused myself from the room, "I'll check on Rachel."

Giving space was the only option I could see helping anything. I began taking steps to cross the apartment for the roof access. Halfway there, Dick elected to join me, and was quick to catch up.

I didn't mind company, and I was sure Rachel wouldn't either. As we climbed the stairs, a small mixture of feelings settled into my chest. Sadness, bitterness, regret. It was odd to feel such things without reason.

But as I pushed through the roof access door, I knew—these emotions were not mine. I waited, just through the door, for Dick to step out. When he had, I put a hand on his arm. "I need to talk to her alone for a second," I told him, as his eyes moved from Rachel to my face.

Though his features contorted into minor confusion, he nodded, "Yeah, go ahead."

I slid my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie, inside the folds of my coat, and started across the roof. Rachel stood in front of the dove cage, her back to me. Her head turned, putting me in her peripheral as I approached.

Thankfully, her emotions didn't change—so at least I could confirm it had nothing to do with me. "What's wrong?" I asked her, gently, as I stepped up beside her at the front of the cage.

Her face was crestfallen, but spiteful. "You didn't know, did you?" she asked, her voice flat, but there was an echo of hope. She turned her head to look up at me as she added, "You didn't know he was going to leave me here?"

I was puzzled by her questions, completely confused, "What? No one is leaving you anywhere, Rachel."

"Just read it," she sighed.

Her hand lifted as her other fell to her side, putting an open white envelope in my view. Curiosity and concern urged me to dig deeper, to find out what exactly she was talking about, but I took the envelope with rue.

A part of me knew before I even read the letter. After all, the handwriting was blindingly Dick's. It was true. Dick had planned to leave Rachel with Hank and Dawn for an unspecified amount of time—he'd even promised to compensate them and pay for Rachel's expenses.

It was all said in plain English in the letter. The gravel of the flooring crunched quickly as it mixed with the sound of Dick's panicked voice from across the roof, "I can explain that."

Dropping my hands to my sides, I turned quickly to face him, and took steps away from Rachel. "When exactly were you planning on cluing _me_ in, Richard?" I questioned, hurt fueling my words.

Dick didn't stop until he was right in front of me, a shade of desperation in his brown irises. "Listen to me, it wasn't going to be for long," he quickly shook his head, even as I scoffed and took a step back from him. If anything, it made him speak faster. "We need time, okay? Time to-"

"Time to _what_? We're perfectly capable of watching out for her ourselves," I pointed out, angrily.

"Oh, come on. Not this again," Hank's voice came from not far off.

It caused me to look away from the conversation a moment to see him. Hank and Dawn were walking toward us. Hank was in front, walking faster, whereas Dawn hung back as though she were just keeping out a watchful eye.

After his words downstairs, it made sense for her to do so. "This doesn't concern you, Hank," Dick spat, through clenched teeth, as he twisted to glare at him.

"The fuck it doesn't, _Dick_ ," Hank spat back. "You were gonna buy us."

"Hank, he was just trying to help," Dawn laid a hand on his arm.

Hank looked down at her with a mixture of surprise and disdain. "Wait- did you know about this?" he questioned her. "You saw what happened—he's a fucking psychopath! Both of 'em are!"

Dawn tried to calm Hank down. Dick took the opportunity to step back to the dove cage, moving up beside Rachel. I tried not to listen to either conversations and focus on my own inner squabbles. This had been planned before we made a new promise.

But even then, it was after the first one. Dick still chose not to give me any insight to this plan whatsoever, instead telling Dawn. That knowledge stung. Yet it didn't last but a moment. The sting faded out to a hollow and empty void radiating with burning heat.

It filled up my chest cavity as my ears picked out the sound of the roof access door falling closed. Immediately my head snapped up. "Well, hello there, you five," a woman spoke brightly, standing with an older man and two teens—one boy, one girl.

There was no hiding that they meant nothing good in being here. These were no ordinary people—they couldn't be with the dense vibrations in my fingertips. I would be genuinely surprised if they were people at all.

"Who the fuck are these guys?" Hank questioned, pulling away from Dawn.

Quickly, I dropped a knife from the sleeve of my hoodie, "Hank-!"

Hank neared these new people enough that the older man stepped forward and thrusted his foot into Hank's abdomen. The force of it was enough to send Hank backward into the gravel by a few feet.

Dick immediately grabbed Rachel and pulled her away, to a spot behind the dove cage somewhere. The woman of the group of four gave Dawn a hard smack before kicking her legs out from under her, dropping her to the gravel.

The boy took after Hank with a baseball bat as Hank tried to get up. I freed my other knife and charged forward. With a flick of my wrist, the first knife stabbed the boy in the arm. It caused him to ease up on the bat enough for Hank to get the upper hand.

I kept the second knife in my hand as the young girl came at me fists first. My top half bent as my arm swung, ducking her fist while simultaneously slicing across her middle. It was intentionally a flesh wound. This girl was a child.

Person or not, I couldn't feel anything telling me she was to be killed. I couldn't feel anything for any of them. Either way I wasn't in the business of murdering children. No matter how much they deserved it.

The girl stumbled back with a stifled cry but did not let up. She swung again and again and I easily blocked her pitiful punches with my palms. She swung out her leg and I hopped up to miss it. When my feet hit the gravel, I kicked up my heel and spun it into the side of her face.

She was thrusted aside onto the gravel with a groan. The faintest vibration graced my bones a heartbeat before another swung at me, more from behind this time. The instinct to move brought me into a duck before I even registered what was happening.

As I stood back to my full height, I backpedaled and spun myself around in order to see whom I was fighting. In the moment after I turned myself, the girl and the man were doubling up on Dick across the roof.

I had turned myself not in time to see my opponent, but to see my opponents send Dick tumbling backward over the side of the roof. Adrenaline pumped harder while my heart refusing to beat, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

In that split second the pressure had built between my eyes, shifting to my forehead, and my muscles acted on their own to raise my hand. A fire erupted in the center of brain, and it traveled along my veins straight to my outstretched palm.

Nothing visible appeared. But the woman was stopped in her tracks, her features instantly sporting confusion as she struggled to move. I could feel every inch of her being in the palm of my hand. The vibrations and the heat created nothing but loudness.

I did not know what I was doing. Not consciously. But, somehow, my body did. I pulled back my hand and then gave it a strong thrust forward. The woman gasped as she was shoved unbelievably hard backward, thrusting her across the roof.

The moment I'd let her go, everything in me was drained completely. But that was not my most pressing concern. As the woman hit the gravel several feet away, a strong set of fingers wrapped around my neck and tugged.

My spine was shoved hard against the side of the roof access, the back of my head thudded hard against it, but even through the stars dancing in front of my vision I could see it was the older man. The knife was still in my hand.

With all my might I threw my hand upward, but the man grabbed my wrist tightly, stopping it. There was a bubble of panic in my gut. My muscles were not working. They were not complying. They would not listen.

My skull burned and throbbed but for the wrong reasons and, suddenly, I could not _feel_ anything. The man guided my hand to twist in the other direction, aiming the knife back at me, and I gave all my strength to my arm to stop it.

Though, nothing I did was working right. My muscles were too weak. He easily gave my wrist a shove, sinking the blade hilt deep in the right side of my abdomen. Sparks shot out in all directions through my nerves, burning with the heat of a thousand suns.

All I could let out was a strangled scream with his hand still clenching tightly around my throat. The man finally let me go on all accounts, and all I could do was fall straight to the gravel. I hit the ground on my right side with a mixture of a cry and a groan.

My lungs were able to inflate fully, causing me to bark a cough. Yet still that was not my most pressing concern. Now my opponent was my mind. It felt as though I'd gone blind. Before, I could see with what I could feel.

Now, I could not feel anything, therefore I could not see. I was left alone floating on an island in the middle of a sea of pure agony. I was writhing, sputtering—my body was chaos. Still, my eyes scattered to find the others when a cry filled my deaf ears.

It was Dawn. She called out for Hank, whose neck the girl had lassoed. Just as her voice quieted, the man holding her shoved her back, and Dawn became airborne.

Her body broke through the top half of the dove cage and fell over the side of the roof with the many pieces. " _Dawn_!" Hank screamed for her, unable to move. The boy hit Hank in the back of the head with his bat, and Hank fell face first in the gravel, unconscious.

My lungs were starting to move too fast, too fast for my weak body to keep up with. The sputtering was now quick gasps as I rested my head against the gravel. But something stopped me entirely. It was a flickering warmth sparking in my chest.

It called out to me, begging me to give it my attention. Every muscle in my body was overwhelmed by it. Somehow I knew—it was Dawn.


	5. A Name On The List

_**IT WAS DIFFICULT NOT TO SCREAM.**_ Every part of my body burned with the instinct to get up, but I felt like I couldn't move. Yet again a warmth—stronger than the last—engulfed me completely. It flared out from my chest, fueling me with an incredible desperation.

The warmth spread out over the knife in my stomach. As it passed the blade, it cooled the wound with a touch of ice, soothing it until the pain ceased in a matter of seconds.

I could no longer feel it as a numbness washed over me, giving me a plight of lightheadedness. My hand trembled as I reached for the handle of the knife. I gripped it tightly with my fingers, my own blood visible on my hands, and I pulled.

The knife came free with a hollow sound, and I did not feel a single inch of its departure. With a quick glance up at the people left on the roof, I could see the four intruders were busy at the back of the roof. I saw my opportunity.

There was no way of knowing if Dick was dead, or Hank was dead, or if Rachel would soon be dead—I could only feel the inescapable, desperate need to get to Dawn. Somehow, with a foreign strength, I pushed myself up into a sitting position.

My body trembled but I did not feel any pain. I continued, pressing further by getting to my knees. If I was going to get to her before anyone noticed, I needed to move quickly. It was my mind's only concerned. The need had consumed me.

It got me to my feet, however unstable they were, and got me moving toward the fire escape. The metal stair case was just a few feet away. I climbed over the side of the roof, smearing blood on the brick, and dropped onto the stairs.

Now out of sight of the people above, I could move just slightly less panicked. Though, I was still hastened in my movements, climbing down the flights of stairs to the ground fairly quickly.

What happened, happened in blurs, in snapshots of memory. I know I made it to Dawn. She laid on her back on the pavement amongst the wood of the dove cage. Blood drained from the side of her mouth but she was still breathing—however difficult it was.

I'd made it to her, clattering to my knees on the pavement beside her. "D-Dawn? Hey, look at me," it smeared blood against her skin, but I touched my hand to her cheek to gain her attention. Her eyes were wide, full of panic and pain. "You're not going to die, alright? You're going to be fine-"

"Savannah?"

I heard the faint echo of a male voice from above and twisted to look up at the roof. Just as I did, Dick's head appeared over the edge of the roof. I would've felt relief had I been able to control what I'd felt at all.

Even from the ground I could tell his eyes were widening at the sight of Dawn. "Savannah?" Dick asked again, this time with a different purpose. I knew what he was really asking— _will she die?_

"No!" I shouted back, however weak my voice.

Even with my answer, Dick was quick to get to the fire escape. I returned my eyes to Dawn's face. She was sputtering on the blood in her mouth, trying to speak. My hand instinctively found hers and I held tightly, leaning in closer to her.

Shaking my head, I stopped her, "Don't do that. You're going to just fine, Dawn. I _promise_."

Her eyes did not calm until her hand squeezed mine. And, even then, her eyes were relaxing due to incoming unconsciousness. "Dawn!" Dick shouted, seconds before he appeared knelt at my side.

He immediately moved to her other side and started chest compressions upon seeing her state. "Come on, Dawn!" he shouted, desperately. "Dawn! Dawn!"

That was all I heard. His desperate calls. The heat filling my body, the cold numbing my pain, eased its way out of my body through way of my toes. And as it left, the pain returned. My head was struck with a sudden dizziness.

It was as though my eyes had been crossed. My vision was doubling along with the throbbing in my skull. Though, the wound in my side remained numb. I took a disorienting look down at it, placing my hand against the red staining my hoodie, feeling the warmth—but no pain.

Now my body trembled violently as I lifted my head, swaying in my knelt position. Dick was doubled, tripled, quadrupled until I'd stopped counting. And that was the last I saw.

Instead the scene before me was replaced with a tiled, florescently lit wall. My ears honed in on the rhythmic beeping and humming of machines as my vision began to clear up through the slits of my eyelids.

I could feel objects in my right forearm, nubbins from the oxygen tubes in my nose. It was obvious I was in a hospital. But that was not what my mind was desperate to tell me. Instead, it was convinced I was in my room at Arkham.

That dank room wreaking of antiseptic and puke. With the state of my vision, the walls almost looked exactly the same. A sudden pressure at my neck caused me to inhale sharply, adrenaline forcing me to breathe harder as a low voice shushed me.

It was low and quiet, close to my ears. I could feel a weight on the length of my body along with something tightly closed around my throat.

What I saw, what I felt, only lasted but a minute. Though it was enough to startle me into full consciousness. My eyelids broke open with a gasp, subjecting my tired orbs to the harsh hospital light. Almost immediately I could feel a presence.

Given what I'd hallucinated seconds prior, I was beyond wary as I shift my gaze to the right, but my body flooded with warm relief upon seeing Dick sitting beside my bed. He was leaning forward in his chair, reaching for my hand.

"Hey, hey, hey- you're okay," he spoke calmly, softly, though I could tell he was overwhelmed with a million different emotions. "You're okay, Anna. We're in a hospital—you lost a lot of blood."

"Dawn—where is she?" I questioned, squinting against the light.

"She's out of surgery. They put her in a room just down the hall."

Dick scooted his chair closer to the bed before reaching up his free hand, sliding his fingers back through my hair in a calming motion. I relaxed back against the pillow behind me, tightening my right hand's grip on his, as I let my eyes close again.

It was an utter relief to know I was truly correct—Dawn wasn't going to die. Lifting my eyelids, my eyes met Dick's. "How is Hank?" I asked, weakly.

Dick exhaled through his nostrils, "He's not talking. But he's with Dawn."

"And Rachel?"

"Rachel's missing," he answered, dread lacing his voice. "Those people on the roof—they took her."

I had assumed as much would happen but, in the moment, I was not allowed to worry about anything else. My body would not have allowed me to use my strength and lack of pain to help Rachel instead. I supposed that was meant to comfort me.

It was meant to make me feel content with what I'd done. But it did no such thing. All it did was cause my lungs to lock up and my eyes to burn, an overwhelming sense of guilt crashing atop my head with the weight of many bricks.

The burning of my eyes forced me to close them, pushing water out of the corners. "Anna, you did what you could," Dick was quick to reassure me, continuing the calming action of his hand in my hair.

"No, I didn't," I shook my head, opening my eyes to yet more water. "I had the strength to but I didn't protect her. Now those psychos have her- she's probably so scared, Dick-"

"Shh- hey, hey, no. No. _None_ of this is on you, understand? We will get her back, Anna, I _promise_ ," he leaned in closer, quieting his soft yet determined voice.

Though inside I did not truly believe his words, I nodded a little. Dick pressed his lips to the side of my head, putting his left arm around me to take the place of the pillow, and rested the side of his face against my forehead.

It was comforting, being cradled in his arms. A small part of me didn't want to be comforted. It wanted to get up, it wanted to get out—it wanted to find Rachel. She was so far away the warmth I felt in my chest was a ghost.

And it was the most uncomfortable feeling I had ever felt. It felt wrong. After a moment of quiet, once my emotions had calmed down, I spoke up. "You should check on Dawn," I said, my voice a little crackled. "Hank, too. He's a giant asshole but he shouldn't be alone right now."

"I don't want to leave you here all alone," Dick leaned back to reply.

I tipped my head back in the space it provided, looking up at his face, "I'll be fine. I might even get some more sleep—who knows? Go. I'm not going anywhere."

His face was colored with a quiet indecision but, ultimately, he nodded. He untangled himself from me and stood, pulling on his jacket before walking toward the door. "I'll be just down the hall if you need me," he said, as he reached the door. "It'll just be a minute."

"Take your time, don't let Hank push you out."

He tilted his head momentarily in an expression, "Yeah, we'll see."

With a small smile, he turned and exited the small hospital room. My eyes followed him as he walked the hall, through the glass wall. I only began moving once he'd disappeared. Fingers wrapping around the IV in my arm, my other hand pulling the nubbins from my nose.

This wasn't the most pathetic thing I had ever done, but it ranked fairly high on the list. Though, I couldn't tell myself no. I couldn't stop myself. The flicker of warmth I felt in my chest was too much to ignore so easily.

I freed myself from the chords and tubes of the machines and got to my feet. The sudden change caused an instant dizziness, a lightheadedness, and a bit of nausea. But I could not let such trivial things stop me.

So I pushed through it—shuffling to the bench against the wall where a pile of clothes lay. Upon sifting through them, I found that they were in fact mine. A pair of black pants and a red and black, long-sleeved shirt from my duffel.

My shoes from last night were beside the pile. Immediately, I dressed, taking care not to anger the bandaged wound on the right side of my abdomen. It was a small window to do what I needed to do. There was no room for error.

Once dressed, I shuffled to the room door. I carefully slid the glass door open and poked my head out through the doorway. Far down the hall to the left, Dick and Hank were talking just outside another hospital room.

Most likely Dawn's. A part of me felt guilty for not staying, for not being there for Hank. But the guilt I'd felt for my responsibility in last night's attack outweighed the guilt of leaving. So I slipped out of the room and traveled to the right.

The hospital staff, nurses and the like, buzzed by with clipboards—some even helping patients along—and no one stopped me. As I walked as quickly as I could manage through the halls to the nearest exit, I broke the white band around my wrist.

I tossed it in the trash can in front of the hospital. Hospitals were not a good place for me to be anyway. They could easily find out who I was. My guess was that they hadn't already because Dick kept a watchful eye.

But if I'd gone in alone, for some random accident or injury, I would've been discovered and immediately put in cuffs, given security watch and sent back to Arkham the moment I was well enough to travel.

After all these years I was still known as a threat. I'd seen it on the news—broadcasters speculating if I was responsible for random deaths in different cities near Gotham. They had whole theories worked up as to how I could've done it.

It was all bullshit. Though, I couldn't help thinking of my friends back home that had to hear it. I could picture Barbara watching those lunatics spew their theories on live television. Her utter disgust would be burned into her features.

I went back to the apartment on foot. Dick's Porsche wasn't parked out front, but my Mustang was. The plan was to get into the apartment, grab my duffel and my keys, then drive to wherever my body would have me go.

The apartment door was locked when I got up to the third floor, but a twist of my wrist broke the lock fairly easily. I walked inside and went straight for my duffel by the couch. It wasn't in my memory, putting the bag there.

Dick must have left it there when he got the clothes I now wore. My keys were inside the front pouch of the bag. I got them out and pulled the bag strap up onto my left shoulder, keeping the weight off my right side, then I exited the apartment.

When I got in behind the wheel of the Mustang, I checked my cell phone. It was out of battery. Sighing, I tossed the dead electronic on top of the duffel in the passenger seat and started the engine of the Mustang.

At this point, I was not operating on my own consciousness. Every move I made was instinctual. My energy, my mental clarity, was fueled by the strengthening warmth in my chest.

It was only a brief concern, the thought of Dick coming to find me. One planted so deep in the back of my mind I barely noticed its existence. Even if he did come to find me, he would have a very hard time keeping up with me.

I was already so far ahead, and he had no idea where I was going. It was good that my cell phone was off. But I needed to check the messages in case Victor called with an update on the mess in Gotham. So I ruefully plugged the device into the cigarette lighter.

It charged while I followed the highway out of D.C., out of Washington. My gut instinct was Ohio. Therefore, I was going to Ohio. Where in Ohio, I did not know—but it didn't matter just yet.

* * *

 **GOTHAM  
12 YEARS AGO**

I didn't know why. But I felt an incredible urge to go for a walk. The fresh night air was nice, it always calmed my nerves. Daddy had gotten me prescribed an anxiety medication. It was probably a good idea, but I didn't like how it made me feel.

I felt off, just a little wrong. Just enough to notice the difference. Usually on my late night walks I would go down by the river and walk its edge, then head back through the side streets until i'd reached my house.

Tonight I decided to walk the main roads through the center of Gotham. There were more street lights and people around. The night life in this city never ceased to amaze me with its vibrancy. I was just across the bridge when I felt a vibration at my side.

It was my cell phone—I knew that before I'd dug it out of my purse. The screen alerted me to a new text message from Dick. A smile curved the edges of my mouth as I opened the message.

 **DICK:** Why are you out so late?

 **ME:** Felt like going for a walk.

 **DICK:** You okay?

 **ME:** Yeah, I just needed some air.

Dick knew more than anyone just how much I disliked taking the medication. But he was an advocate for it in the hopes it would give me some semblance of normalcy. With the voices, the visions, the nightmares—it felt like I was losing my mind.

And maybe I was? What with how these walks usually turned out, it would not surprise me anymore. Typically when I was out walking and Dick texted me, he was out, too. His outings were a little more good natured compared to mine.

They had better intentions, better outcomes. I walked peacefully under the streetlights knowing he was out there, on a rooftop somewhere, watching. It made the paranoia a little less prominent.

 **DICK:** When did you get that jacket?

 **ME:** When I went shopping with Barbara yesterday.

 **DICK:** It looks good on you.

 **ME:** Don't you have a super villain to catch?

 **DICK:** Are you trying to get rid of me?

 **ME:** I feel bad taking your time.

 **DICK:** It's okay, nothing's happening right now.

Walking while texting was an art form I had mastered in the last few weeks. But something caused me to lift my head in a jolt to watch where I was going, like there might be something in front of me. There was nothing. Nothing at all.

Then I felt it again. My feet halted, just past a streetlight, and my rounded eyes roamed across the street and over the nearby buildings. There was something here—I just couldn't see it. My phone was vibrating in my hands, but I ignored it.

I couldn't make myself answer it. It was like my mind was only allowed one task, and it was currently stuck on figuring out just what it was I was sensing. With a quick glance either way, I crossed the street and started up the road on the other side.

There was no way of knowing just why I needed to walk on the other side, why that was a requirement of this feeling in my gut. It just was.

My heart took a sudden leap in my chest, right up into my throat, and I found myself walking much faster than before. It felt urgent, as though I was desperately trying to find it—whatever it was. The need not being met caused an anxious pain in my chest.

Before I knew it, I was running. I was running faster than I needed to. It didn't last long before I was suddenly stopped at a side street off Main. My body stopped before my feet had, almost as if something was pulling me to a stop.

I followed the growing anxiety in me into the secluded darkness of the side street without hesitation. "Alina?" I called out the name, one I'd never heard before. It spilled from my lips instinctively, absentmindedly.

But there was a strong emotional attachment to each letter. I could feel it in my bones. And I needed to find her— _quickly_. My feet moved fast as my eyes desperately scanned the street. "Alina!"

Just as the word finished flying from my mouth, I found what I'd been looking for. My feet skidded to a sudden halt, and my mouth fell open with a sharp gasp, eyes wide with shock and fear.

Alina was dead.

Her body lay face first on the pavement, next to the trash adjacent a dumpster—as if she, too, were trash. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat but my heart was breaking. "No..." the word came out as a whimper. I took steps toward her, kneeling beside her with watered eyes. "I'm so sorry."

I spoke softly to the remainder of her, to whatever piece of her soul might still be lingering. Blood coated the pavement beneath my shoes. There were stab wounds covering the slope of her back, leaving tears in her floral dress, staining the pink fabric with dark crimson.

"Savannah!"

A familiar voice pierced the bubble of trance surrounding me, but I didn't move. I couldn't. I could only sit there, crying silently beside the body, mourning the sudden loss of someone I never knew. The only thing familiar about her was her dress.

I could've sworn I'd seen it somewhere before, but that was most likely just in a store. A presence was felt at my left side just moments before boots shuffled into my peripheral. It was Dick—more specifically, Robin.

"Holy..." his voice was filled with horror-stricken shock. "Anna, did you know her?"

I shook my head a little, "No."

"Then how'd you know her name?"

I opened my mouth to speak but anything I wanted to say was stuck in my throat, a strangled sob coming out instead. Sitting beside her was a mistake. But I couldn't move.

It all came to me—her abduction, her torture, and ultimately her murder. The scenes of it all played out in my mind in quick flashes, all three points in time being chopped up and blurred together in one single montage of pain and terror.

My stomach was sour, the crying not so silent anymore. It put an empty feeling of sadness in my gut to see it all. I bent over as a sudden pain ripped its way up my spine, flaring out in waves of heat through the rest of my back, my fingers digging at my scalp as I braced my elbows on my knees.

There was too much pain to cry. And that was what Alina felt just before death finally took her. I could see it play against my eyelids as if the memory was implanted in my brain like a projector.

I felt something touch my left shoulder blade, then grip the side of my shoulder tightly. "Anna! Can you hear me?" Dick urgently questioned me. "Talk to me—what's happening?"

"It hurts- it hurts so much," I forced the words through tears and clenched teeth.

"What hurts? Were you injured?"

" _No_!" I hit my hand against the side of my head in a desperate attempt to make it understandable as I added my next words. "My head. It's _her_."

"She needs to get away from the body," another, deeper voice spoke not far behind me. "It's triggering the hallucination."

Dick immediately wrapped his arms around me and stood, pulling me up to stand with him. My head was throbbing as the scenes continued to flash against my tightly shut eyelids. The sudden movement sent another sharp pain up my spine and I cried out, grabbing Dick's arm to brace myself against it.

Even with this outward reaction, he dragged me further away from the dumpster Alina's body lay next to, quickly to make it all stop. I knew because I could feel the movement, and I could feel the pain lessening.

It was working. But it didn't stop completely until I'd been far enough way from her for long enough. I was breathing rather heavily when it finally stopped completely and I could peel open my eyelids. The whole event took much energy from me.

Suddenly I felt like all my muscles were forcibly drained. I slumped back against Dick's chest, trying to slow my breathing. "Did it stop?" Dick asked, cupping my cheek with a gloved hand to turn my face toward his.

I nodded slowly, "Yes...I think it's over."

"Take her home. I'll make sure GCPD finds the body," the second voice spoke again.

I'd had a hunch, but it was confirmed when I turned to look. It was Batman. I had so many questions. But the one that really mattered right then slipped through my lips before I could stop it. "How did you know that would make it stop?" I inquired.

He looked at me plainly as he answered, "Educated guess."

* * *

 **COVINGTON, OHIO  
NOW**

I pulled into a parking space in the lot in front of a roller skating rink, ironically named Scooter's. By the time I'd gotten here, my phone was charged enough to read any messages, but I waited until I was parked.

My fingers tugged out the chord from the cigarette lighter and then unlocked my cell phone. There were no texts, but there were several missed calls and multiple voicemail messages. The majority of them both were from Dick.

I ignored those. There was only one voicemail from Victor. I quickly clicked to listen to the message, then held the phone to my ear. " _Hey, Red. Some weird shit's been going down lately—just checking in. Give me a call when you're done babysitting, alright_? _We need to talk_."

There wasn't time to call Victor right at the moment, so I saved the message and turned off my phone. I brought the device with me as I climbed out of the Mustang, shoving the door closed behind me. This place seemed to be popular.

You could hear the music from inside just in front of the door through a speaker. It was hard not to think of the days when I would think it fun to go to a place like this. My father was too busy working to police his daughter, so I could go if I pleased.

I'd forced Dick and Barbara to go ice skating with me—after hours, of course. That's what made it such a fun idea. They, too, ended up enjoying themselves, so it wasn't all bad when we got caught by Barbara's dad.

I pulled open the glass door to the building and stepped inside. It was definitely warmer in than out, but the heat in my chest was not from an outside temperature. It was Rachel—I could see her sitting at a booth across the building.

The moment I recognized the streaks of her hair, her head twisted quickly, eyes landing on mine almost immediately. "Savannah?" I couldn't hear her, but I could read her lips. "Oh my God!"

She began to push out of the booth and I hastened my steps toward her. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" I questioned, worriedly, as she approached rapidly.

Rachel's body collided with mine, her arms wrapping tightly around my middle. A pain shot up my spine, my right side burning, but I gritted my teeth to stifle it as I returned her hug. "I'm okay," she nodded quickly, before pulling away from me. "How did you find me?"

"Who the hell are you?"

The foreign female voice drew my eyes up from Rachel, over her shoulder to a dark-skinned woman standing not three feet from us. She was eyeing me warily, gaze flickering between Rachel and I. "This is Savannah—I told you about her," Rachel told the woman.

"It's Beverly, actually," I corrected, returning the woman's wary stare.

She was the most peculiar sight. A skin-tight dress in vibrant purple, a plethora of magenta curls resting on her shoulders, knee-high boots, and a large fur coat. "Beverly?" Rachel questioned, turning to me again. "What do you-?"

"Why don't we sit? Sounds like there's a lot to talk about," the woman interrupted, however cautious her voice may be.

I nodded a little, though I kept an eye on her. There was something off, something wrong—I could feel it. Her vibrations were different. They were unexplainably warm and loud. We sat down at the booth they'd previously occupied.

The woman sat on the side facing the exit while I sat on the opposite side with Rachel, Rachel being on the outside. She offered me her basket of half eaten fries, but I declined. "I'm alright, thanks," I shook my head a little. Then, I looked up at the woman, "Who are you, exactly?"

"Kory. And is it Savannah or Beverly? I'm confused," she replied.

There was something subtly flippant, something sarcastic. It was cautious still. Given who had been hunting Rachel, I supposed it was for good reason. "It's Beverly," I answered, neutrally.

"Rachel says you're one of the good ones," Kory said, leaning back a little in her side of the booth. "I'm not so convinced. Why does one girl need two names?"

I sighed, "Why does one girl need such a big coat?"

"Did you bring Dick with you?" Rachel suddenly turned to me, her eyes wide. Her mouth was full of fries, muffling her words, making her appear even more youthful than she normally looked.

"No, he's...in D.C., I think. He doesn't know I'm here," I shook my head. "I needed to find you, so I split. He'll catch up eventually, though."

Rachel's face dropped, "Is Dawn okay?"

"She won't die—as for any permanent damage, i'm not sure."

"Who's Dawn?" Kory asked.

I turned my head straight forward to look at her before replying, "A friend of mine."

Kory's eyes regarded me differently. It seemed she understood that I was not going to give her in depth, detailed answers for every question she asked. Something she wasn't used to, it seemed. Suddenly the atmosphere changed along with the song blasting out overhead.

Exhaling, she sat up in her side of the booth. "I'm going to change this music before my head explodes," she announced.

"Well, I need change for the arcade," Rachel told her.

Kory smiled and dug into her pocket, before pulling out a single bill. She reached across the table and slapped it in Rachel's open palm. Then, it was clear what it was—a crisp hundred dollar bill.

Rachel's eyebrows popped, "Seriously?"

"All I got," Kory nodded, as she stood. She paused before departing from the table, giving me a serious look, "Keep an eye on her."

My only response was a nod. Then Kory ventured off to change the music. Rachel stuffed another fry in her mouth before turning to me. "Wanna go to the arcade with me?" she asked.

She was in much brighter spirits now than she had ever been while in the hands of Dick and I. It was too much of a stark difference for me to say no. That, and I could watch her if I was nearer to her than sitting across the room.

So I accepted. We made change from the hundred dollar bill and then found our way to a pinball machine at the back. Rachel put in her money and began to play, while I stood at the right side.

I could see Rachel, and I could see the door—all the while keeping an eye out for the other patrons, in case one of them decided to be evil today. It was the ideal place to stand and surveil without looking suspicious.

Rachel racketed the ball around the inside of the machine, making random expressions of concentration that were vaguely humorous. "So, what happened to you on the roof? I didn't really see it," she asked, suddenly piping up.

I inhaled sharply, "We got our asses kicked. Dick and Dawn, off the roof. Hank in the back of the head with a bat. I was stabbed with my own knife."

"Oh my God, you were stabbed?!" Rachel asked, voice risen with worry.

Her eyes shot from the game to mine. Immediately I turned more toward her, lowering my voice. "Keep your voice down, alright?" I said. "Focus on your game—don't react."

It was obvious she wasn't at all put at ease. Her worry did not change, but she did as told and racketed the ball some more, glancing between the game and me. "Are you okay? Shouldn't you, like, be in a hospital or something?" she questioned, quieter than before.

I nodded, "Yes."

"To which question?"

"Both."

"You're crazy," Rachel shook her head, scoffing at my response. As she spoke, movement over her shoulder caught my eye. A young looking boy with green, spiky hair was slowly approaching us at the pinball machine.

He looked nervous, unsure. Most likely your stereotypical antisocial teenager trying to branch out. That wasn't exactly hard to read. His eyes were scattered between the game, Rachel, and me. When his eyes flickered toward me, I plastered on a closed-mouthed smile.

It was a gestured he returned, though his smile had teeth. He nodded a little with an airy chuckle as he stepped up at the other side of the machine. "Hitchhiker Lane. Nice," he smiled, watching Rachel play. "Uh...go for the camera sinkhole."

I didn't say anything. I just watched. It felt like I was the older sister chaperoning the younger one on a night out. The idea of it made me wary. "I'm Gar," the boy said.

Simultaneously, Rachel said, "I'm Rachel."

They smiled at each other, however brief it was—Rachel had to keep her eyes on the game. The boy glanced at me almost expectantly, as though he was waiting for me to give my name. "Beverly," I answered his inaudible question.

Gar bobbed his head, smiling, "Cool. Are you two sisters?"

"No," Rachel and I spoke at the same time.

She glanced up from the game at me and I gave her a look. Gar bounced between his feet a little, eyes shifting between us curiously. Then he looked at Rachel, "Your hair is cool."

Again at the same time, Rachel said, "I like your hair."

Despite the terrible few days I'd had, the left corner of my lips cracked up in the beginnings of a genuine smile as my eyes shifted between the two teens. Something deep inside of me wondered, ever so briefly, if that's how Dick and I looked at some point.

Young and nervous and rosy-cheeked. Wanting to say something but not knowing if saying it would get you anywhere good, rather than a lifetime of embarrassment. "Look out!" Gar shouted, pointing at the game.

The ball shot around and the game spoke, " _Jackpot_!"

Both Gar and Rachel suddenly burst with shock and excitement, shrieking, "Multiball!" as Rachel bounced against the front of the machine. I couldn't help but chuckle. The two together radiated a positivity that was sorely lacking in most areas of my life.

Seeing Rachel so happy was a rarity I wanted to protect. I wanted to keep her that way—young, and innocent, and _happy_. But my smile melted through my shoes as a familiar vibration tickled my bones. Dick was here. Instinctively, I glanced around the room.

My eyes swept far and wide, finally stopping on him as he was walking in the main area from the door. He went straight over to Kory at the Jukebox. "Shit," I hissed, under my breath.

"What's wrong?"

Rachel's voice pulled me back to the teens at the pinball machine. She looked curious and concerned. I sighed, but shook my head. Gar glanced between us both with a nervous shift of his weight, but he didn't say anything to either of us.

At least, not until my body decided to have the worst possible timing in my entire life. "Are you bleeding?" he suddenly asked me, eyes flickering between my face and my abdomen.

"What? No," I shook my head, feigning confusion.

"I'm sorry, it's just...uh, your shirt is darker there and, uh, it-"

The second I looked down at my shirt, I stopped hearing what was said. Sure enough there was a darker spot, right over my bandaged wound. I gently touched my fingers to the material a second before pulling them away to look.

My fingers were smeared with blood. It wasn't much, only a light covering, but it was enough to draw attention obviously. "Hey, come on, we're leaving—both of you," Dick's voice came from behind, causing me to lift my head to look.

He looked displeased, standing a foot behind and to the left of me. "What are you doing here?" Rachel questioned him, her face suddenly soured.

Dick answered, "Now's not the time, okay?"

" _Why_ are you here?" Rachel pressed.

"Can we talk about this somewhere else? Let's go," Dick replied, curtly, before turning to leave. He glanced back to give me a pointed look—it was clear that he was, for all intents and purposes, pissed.

After I ditched him the way I did, I couldn't blame him. In fact I was the first to follow him. That could be blamed on my guilt. Kory and Rachel reluctantly followed along after a moment. "Rachel, we're getting you somewhere safe," Dick said, over his shoulder as he walked.

He lead the way toward the exit, the three of us women just behind him. I walked a little faster to get up beside him before speaking. "How the hell did you find us?" I asked him. "It was the computer, wasn't it?"

"I don't even know where to start with _you_ ," Dick hissed at me.

I sighed heavily, "Look, i'm sorry. But I needed to find Rachel."

" _We_ , Anna. _We_ needed to find her," he corrected, pushing through the door of the building. The cold air of outside did not hit me quite as hard as the tone of his voice. He lowered it, leaning toward me, "We're a team—you can't just fucking _ditch_ me and run off!"

We reached the parking lot. The group of us was collectively heading for the Porsche, parked two spaces from my Mustang. "Hey, maybe people would respond better if you watched your mouth," Kory commented, from behind me.

"Both of you are wanted by the police," Dick said, coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the parking lot. It caused all of us to stop as well. "They think Rachel killed her parents. And you're wanted for kidnapping, assault, arson."

Shrugging a little, I exhaled, "Well-"

"I don't wanna hear it," Dick interrupted, his head turning toward me with hardened features. My head recoiled, caught completely off guard by his sudden snap. I understood why he was angry. But I had not expected such an outburst.

Then again, we'd had our fair share of arguments that began with a random outburst from him. He took a step toward me and spoke with a hushed voice, his eyes softening amongst the stone of his other features.

"For all I knew, you could've made it down the block and bled out in an alley after ripping your stitches," he told me, the hurt in his eyes radiating through his voice.

My head tilted in a guilt-ridden expression, desperately grasping for something to hold onto. Desperate for something to lessen the explosion aimed right at me, "Dick, I'm _sorry_."

"We can't all tell when people are going to die!" he threw his arms out at his sides, exasperatedly raising his voice.

"Okay, i'm not even going to pretend to know what the hell is going on here," Kory said, crossing her arms as she sighed.

"Don't yell at her," Rachel glared at the back of Dick's head.

A throbbing faded in at the back of my head, and I reached up to rub my temple with the pads of my fingers, letting my eyes close. This was a mess. A mess I'd created, and now could not control.

I'd seen it coming, but the need to find Rachel outweighed any rational thoughts of reason or empathy. Regret and guilt and hurt pooled in my stomach. The very look of pain in his eyes was enough to water my eyes.

It was too much to reason I could leave without saying anything and be able to make it okay. He'd been left by a lot of people. Now I was one of them. Dick and Rachel were arguing over whether or not Kory actually kidnapped her when I rejoined reality.

The headache did not go away, but I was able to force myself to focus for a moment. Rachel was getting more agitated and therefore the warmth in my chest was becoming painful. "Stop pissing her off," I spoke up, aiming the words at Dick.

Dick turned, pointing a finger at me, " _You_ don't get a speaking part."

"Is anyone even listening to me?!" Rachel shouted, throwing her arms out at her sides. It brought everyone's eyes to her face. She then thrusted a hand toward me, unwavering in her frustration, "She's _still_ bleeding! Kory _didn't_ kidnap me! No one wants _you_ here!"

She aimed her hand at each person necessary to make her point. The last person she took aim at was Dick. His face only seemed to harden with her final words. But, in a heartbeat, he blinked as he turned to look at me quickly.

His voice rose an octave in panic, "You're bleeding?"

"Oh my god," Kory leaned her forehead into her palm beside me. I'd forgotten about the blood slowly seeping through my bandage for a moment. The mention of it only drew my eyes back down to the dark spot on my shirt.

The discoloration now trailed further down, into the top of my black pants. Dick was immediately thrust into action. He unzipped his jacket and pulled it from his shoulders, taking steps toward me. "We need to get you out of here," he said, tugging the jacket around my shoulders.

"I'm not leaving the Mustang," I shook my head. I dug into my pocket and unearthed the keys, then held them out to Kory. "You can drive, right?"

She took them, a little hesitantly, "Yeah, I got it."

Dick wrapped his arms around me and started walking, guided me along beside him. Considering we were only walking to the Porsche I saw no reason to fight it. "I've got a first aid kit—we can fix you up," he spoke reassuringly, yet worriedly.

We made it to the passenger side of the Porsche, and Dick reached ahead to open the door so I didn't have to raise my arm. He held it open while I eased myself onto the passenger seat. Once I was in, he shut the door.

Words were exchanged between Dick and Kory and Rachel, but they were muffled through the walls of the vehicle. It was a quick exchange. Only a moment passed before Dick climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.


	6. Promises, Promises

_**DICK KNELT BESIDE THE PORSCHE.**_ The first aid kit lay open on the pavement beside him. My skin was prickled and pulled at, but I barely noticed it. Truly, I did not feel it. Dick's steady fingers worked a needle through my skin as I held my shirt up.

No, I did not feel the pain one would normally feel when their body was being tied together. My mind was far too occupied to be bothered by such trivial things. The pain of receiving the wound was far worse, anyway.

My eyes remained on Dick's, though he was concentrating on his task. Many things had gone through my mind on the drive to St. Paul's. Most of which involved what Dick had said at the roller rink. Not everyone could tell when death neared.

That was very true, and it brought to my attention just how oblivious these abilities tended to make me. Most times I did not see what was in front of my face because I was focused on something miles away. I did not feel what was begging to be felt, for I was feeling too much already.

It made it difficult to keep up with those around me. It often caused me to lack empathy for those I claimed to love. The pain I was starting to feel in my body had nothing to do with any stitches—no, it was the knife of complacency in my chest.

Dick's eyes flickered from the almost finished stitching project to my face curiously. "Have something to say?" he asked, rhetorically. "Just say it."

"I said I'd try not to make it about me, so I won't. What I did hurt you. It was thoughtless and reckless, and I shouldn't have done it the way I did," I said, finally. Again, he glanced up at me. This time his eyes were a little softer.

But it was not enough—it was not nearly enough. So I took in a breath and continued, "Nothing I say right now is going to accurately express how sorry I am. I didn't think about…well...I didn't think." Dick clipped off the final stitch and put the supplies atop the open lid of the kit.

"No, you didn't," Dick righted himself with a heavy exhale, and his shoulders trembled as they relaxed. "I worry about you, Savannah—a lot. Probably too much. But, damn it...you are the one thing I have left that I can't live without. You know, I...I see what you go through every day, and I just want to protect you from it. I want to keep all the bad things away and just keep you _safe_."

The back of my throat was beginning to pinch, indicating my proximity to blurred vision and mumbled words, but I carried on as best I could. "Dick, I-" I stopped myself, averting my eyes. Emotions were nothing I wanted to contend with.

It was always easiest doing my job alone. There was no one to interfere and worry for me, no one I could worry for and interfere. What I needed to do was clear and easy to understand. What I felt for Dick Grayson was not.

Finally, I inhaled sharply, and continued, "Months ago, I woke up in my apartment sobbing and I called you—do you remember, that night I called you while you were at the office late?"

"I remember," he nodded to prod me along, listening intently with eyes of curiosity.

"I'd had a premonition that night, in my dream. It was about you, Dick. And I just needed to hear your voice, to know you were okay. Yes, I know when people are going to die and therefore have assurance—but I would rather live my life not knowing than see you die every time I close my eyes."

Dick slowly shook his head, his eyes rounded and soften beyond compare. He pressed his palm into the side of the Porsche and leaned in, using a gentle voice, "Anna, why didn't you tell me?"

"Listen to me. My point is...I feel the same way. But these abilities have a mind of their own. I can't always control what I do or how I react. Sometimes what they make me feel is so strong, I feel like I'm going to literally burst if I don't comply," I desperately tried to explain.

"And that's what happened at the hospital," he said, knowingly.

I nodded and he sighed, before reaching down to the kit for a gauze pad. "This feeling I get with Rachel, the urge I have to protect her...it's stronger than anything I've ever felt," I said, tugging my shirt up away from the stitches. "It's like it takes control of me."

"What do you feel, when it's telling you to protect her?" Dick questioned, curiously. He opened the gauze pad and placed it against my skin, then reached for the medical tape.

"It's heat. Always heat. It comes from inside me somewhere—and I just have to move. Like if I stay I'll die. It's pure survival instinct," I haphazardly tried to explain it to him.

He broke off pieces of tape and secured the square of gauze to my skin, taping down all four sides, and I let my bloodied shirt hem fall when he was done. Dick packed up the first aid kit, rearranging its contents, but I could tell it was an excuse.

An excuse not to talk, an excuse not to feel, an excuse to escape. He slid the kit into the Porsche in the space by my feet. While he was still leaned in to do so, I reached forward and placed a hand on either side of his face.

It forced him to stop, to look at me. "Listen carefully," I spoke quietly, what with him being so close. "If I leave you somewhere...it's not because I want to. Promise me you'll remember that."

He nodded a little, eyes searching mine, "I promise."

The words came seconds before he pushed forward, moving up to catch my lips between his. At first, it seemed yet another excuse. Yet another way to avoid something hard. But then I felt it. I felt it in the way he kissed me.

In the gentle touch of his hand on the side of my ribs. He _was_ feeling—he was feeling it all. The emotions crashed over me like tidal waves along with the push and pull of our lips. And for a moment I felt myself become lost in them.

Mouths opened, eyes tightly shut, hands on each other's skin. For him, I said all I could not speak. And for me, he did the same. Though, it did not last long without interruption. The grumbled clearing of one's throat gave enough startle to break us apart.

"Are you two going to be long?" Kory stood just beside the front of Porsche, eyeing us. "Rachel's asking for Beverly."

Dick sighed through his nose before standing. He held out his hand to me, sidestepping to allow space for me to climb out. I took his hand with one of mine, pushing against the dash with the other, and eased myself up out of the vehicle.

With my weight on my feet, the freshly sewn wound in my side was flared with a throbbing sting. I gritted my teeth as to avoid an outward reaction. The last thing I needed was to show weakness—especially in front of Kory, whom I did not trust yet.

She appeared thus far to have good intentions, though I was never one to jump into the arms of a stranger no matter how wide their smile. Before going into the convent, I swapped out my top with a random t-shirt from my duffel and my pants for a pair of jeans.

It would be safe to assume the nuns would not react well to blood smears. Changing seemed like the safest option. Then I was on my way to Rachel. Dick and I found her in the sanctuary. She sat in a pew close to the front.

My feet had not stepped foot in anything resembling a church in my whole life. Religion was never something pressed upon me when I was younger, and my abilities only made it harder to find faith understandable as I aged.

But I did not hesitate when walking into the sanctuary. I was not there for myself, I was there for Rachel—and that was something worth the unsettling. Dick hung back, staying at the first few pews, as I continued on ahead to Rachel.

I came to stand at the end of pew she sat in just as she was looking up to identify her guest, causing her lips to tug up into a closed-mouthed smile. "You get stitched back up?" she asked me.

"Yes," I nodded. Then, tilting my head, I asked, "How are you doing?"

"Can't you feel it?"

"Well, yes. But I'd like to here you explain it."

She sighed, but slid herself to the left, making a space wide enough for me to sit on the pew beside her. I stepped in between the pews and lowered myself to sit as she began to answer my previous question.

"I'm fine now, but...any minute that could change. This thing, whatever's inside me, is getting stronger. I can feel it. But I can't control it. I can't stop it," she vented, speaking quietly.

Slowly, I nodded through her statements. It was understandable to feel the way she felt—utterly helpless. I'd felt the very same when my abilities first began to show their ugly faces. Suddenly, Rachel turned to me, "Can I...ask you a personal question?"

"Alright," I nodded once.

"How did you get your powers?"

"I was born with them, I believe. My mother was murdered when I was a baby. When I was fifteen, I saw her body at my home," I answered, to which her eyes shot wide. "I didn't know it was her at the time—but that was the first time I ever felt anything like this."

Rachel sat back a little, "That must've been terrifying."

"At the time, yes, it was. It pales in comparison to what I've seen since then."

"When did you learn to control it, what you can do?" she asked, curiously.

There was obviously a point to her question. She did not want to know for my sake, she wanted to know for her own. To learn if there was anything she could do similar in order to control her inner demons.

With lips pressed thin in a line, I gave a slow shake of my head, "I didn't. Not yet."

"But-" Rachel sat forward, turning more toward me. "You're so in control—the way you can feel people's emotions, and tell where people are. It's incredible."

Instinctively, I reached for her hand, turning it over with mine to grip it tightly. Her gaze flickered to my hand and back to my face in an expression of curiosity and confusion. "Feel that?" I questioned, lifting a brow. "Feel the currents racing through my body, through the muscle and scar tissue?"

"What _is_ that?" Rachel inquired, her forehead creasing in concentration as she held tighter.

"I have something inside of me, too. It may not be as volatile as what's inside of you, but it is wild and untameable. I don't _control_ anything—I master _living_ with it, and practice using it when I need it."

Rachel relaxed a little in her seat, her eyes averting as her features shifted into thoughtful positions. It was not the answer she wanted. It was not the answer she needed. And, visibly, she was disappointed. Given the nature of her abilities, it was only natural to feel hopeless.

But I was confident. There was in fact a way for her to live with these abilities—she only needed to find it and make her peace with it. We sat there like that for a while. Our bodies angled toward each other ever so slightly.

Our hands clasped firmly between us. Both lost in our own trails of thought. Then the sound of the door opening behind us caused my head to lift, neck turning to see whom had entered the sanctuary. It was one of the Sisters.

Not one I'd seen before. There was something in her eyes, the way she tipped her head—she was beckoning me. I found it odd, considering i'd never spoken to this woman before, but I also found it curious.

Too curious not to get up. "I'll be right back," I told Rachel. She nodded a little and released my hand as I stood. I sidestepped out from between the pews and walked up the aisle toward the door.

The Sister was holding the door open, only her upper body poking in. She whispered to me, "I'm sorry to bother you. But could you help me with something?"

We stepped just outside of the sanctuary, letting the door close behind us on its own, and I turned to the Sister with a confused but intrigued expression. "I suppose. What do you need help with, Sister?" I asked of her.

"Well, you see, we have a woman here who claims to…"

Her voice trailed off into a void as my eyes were pulled to a space over her shoulder. They were brought to the frame of a woman with long, dark hair. The features of her face were soft, the lines gentle, with clear and simple eyes.

My brow knitted, eyes narrowing just a little. In her hands she held a black bird. The creature was hugged to her lower chest, sitting still in her palms, as her thumb stroked its wing. Something tugged at my chest, physically pulling me forward.

I stepped around the Sister—the poor woman completely forgotten—and I took steps toward the woman holding the black bird. In my heart I knew it was not real. It could not be. For the woman holding the bird was my mother.

As I moved toward her, she slipped to the left, around a corner. I walked faster as an urgency the loss in sight of her caused began to grab hold of my lungs, constricting them until I laid eyes on her again. I rounded the corner quickly.

There she was, at the very end of a long hallway. It was unclear to me just what this escape was for. In it was no clear reasoning I could deduce. But still I played along. I hurried down the hallway as she began to take another turn—this time, to the right.

Her form disappeared into a room. I followed the long hall to the end and then turned right, taking steps into the room. As my feet crossed the threshold, I was given a pushed at my back, my body thrusted deep inside.

Inside the room were familiar walls. They were covered in deep crimson with a royal-esque pattern. A large bed was to my right, a desk to the left, and a closet straight on. At my back came in bright sunlight from an open glass door.

This was my bedroom. I took slow steps toward the room's door, across the room and to the right of the desk. Muffled voices filtered through, and I wondered briefly if those in the house could hear me, too. Surely, they could not.

But still I kept quiet, inching the door open far enough to slip into the hall. Down the hall was the large staircase into the foyer. Continuing along the hallway would lead you straight to my father's room. I reached the staircase, my hand rested on the top of the railing.

Standing in the foyer, near the base of the stairs, was my father. He was knelt before a little girl—her three-foot tall frame clothed in a blue dress, red hair tucked back in pigtails. I recognized her dress more than anything else in the room.

I knew what day this was. My father had recruited another caretaker for me. He was in the process of explaining it when the doorbell gave a hearty ring. Straightening himself, he stepped up to the door and pulled it open, plastering on a wide smile.

It was always about the show, about the appearance. My father was never truly happy when I was a child. You could see it in his eyes. Even when he looked at me, there was no happiness, no love. Part of me wondered if that was what drew us apart as I got older.

He pulled the door wide open as he took a step back, making way for the woman outside. I remembered this day vaguely. The dress on the little version of me was the strongest, though not much else was clear.

Yet, when the woman stepped inside, I knew for a fact that it was memory rather than hallucination. Her dark hair was pulled into tightly clipped curls beneath a dark green hat, the color an accent to her dark green coat and wool skirt of the same color.

My lungs inflated rapidly, their natural instinct to exhale being halted by the rush of adrenaline squirting into my veins. The lower half of my jaw remained farther down, causing my mouth to hang open as my widened eyes remained locked on the woman.

It was my mother. She appeared confident and outspoken, walking up to me and holding out her hand without even bending down to my level. "Mom?" I found myself questioning aloud. Then, a bit louder, I was firm, "Mom."

Nothing in what I saw before me changed with the voicing of my words. The little girl refused to shake her hand. Instead, she stared up at her a moment before walking toward the kitchen. And my heart screamed. _Go back_.

My veins raced as I began to take steps down the stair case. Mother had introduced herself as someone else—i'd never recognized the name. She turned to my father and they exchanged words I could not quite hear.

I walked faster, trotting down the remaining steps to the foyer. "Mom!" I all but shouted, desperate for her to hear. I'd kept walking, crossing the foyer, charging straight for her. As I had secretly anticipated, my body phased right through hers.

We did not touch. We did not collide. I simply had kept moving. A second after passing through, I stopped myself. The rapid movements of my lungs shook my body. Nothing made much sense to me anymore.

All of my thoughts swirled together in a pool in my mind, creating a cloud that was impossible to read. It was beginning to make me lightheaded. And then I felt it—a grasp on my arm.

My body jolted against the wall at my back, the first gasp of air to fill my lungs weighted down with smoke. It clouded the area surrounding me to the point of terrible visibility. But, directly in front of me, knelt Rachel.

Her face was smeared with ash, eyes wide with panic. "Savannah! Come on, we need to go— _now_!" she urged me to get up, pulling at my right arm. Somehow I'd managed to sit myself on the floor in the corner of a small room.

It was filled with smoke but otherwise untouched. My thoughts were swirling, only pure instinct clear enough to get me to my feet. "What happened?" I questioned, numbly. Using my voice, breathing in, caused a bark of a cough.

"I'll explain later- we just need to get out of here."

She answered me as she pulled me along behind her, exiting the room. We slipped into the hall, the long hall I'd seen my mother in, and walked rapidly toward the front of the building. The closer we got to an exit, the more it became clear—half the building was in flames.

Rachel's hand slipped from my arm, landing in my hand, and she held on tightly as she lead the way out. With the skin contact, I could feel it. Desperation, anxiety, terror. It filled my chest in one strong wave.

The front doors were just barely out of the line of fire. We pushed through them and escaped to the clear air of outside. When we got out, Rachel kept walking quickly from the building, and I didn't try to stop her. I kept going, too.

I was coughing the last of the smoke out of my legs and trying not to trip over my feet as Rachel tugged me quickly along behind her. A quick sweep of the driveway with my eyes showed no sign of Dick's Porsche or my Mustang.

Both vehicles were gone. I took that to mean Dick and Kory were not inside the building currently drowning in fire. But a part of me did worry. Though, it was quickly becoming hidden by the intense waves of emotions coming from Rachel.

Those emotions kept me on my feet, kept me moving, even when she started running. She had said something to me before picking up the pace, but I did not hear it. What I felt told me many things. I knew what had happened.

It was almost too difficult to distinguish the specific memories, though I knew enough to understand the gist of it all. The Sisters had locked Rachel in a room in the basement of the convent. To get out, Rachel embraced her darkness.

From a survival perspective, it was exactly what I would have encouraged her to do. But I was not too keen on the idea of harming any of the Sisters with no idea of this event. I'd had no premonitions concerning these women—yet some were surely dead.

I supposed I was too deep in my hallucination to feel such things in time. In fact, I was so deep inside my own mind I could not tell the building was going up in smoke.

Rachel and I ran. There was a large field at the back of the sanctuary we ran through, for on the other side was a plethora of trees. We made it to the trees before i'd let go of Rachel's hand. It was coming back to me slowly, my reality.

Finally, I could feel the weight of the damage to my lungs from the smoke. The pain ignited in my right side from running with a stitched wound. A throbbing in my skull almost powerful enough to force me off my feet.

With the awakening of my nerves, I stumbled to a stop a ways inside the trees, causing Rachel to stop just ahead. My hand pressed firmly to the gauze covering my wound, over my shirt. "This is ridiculous," I heaved, my voice graveled. "Where are we even going?"

"Anywhere but back there," Rachel breathed heavily as well, shaking her head quickly.

A faint warmth touched the bones of my chest seconds before a deep, throaty sound filled my ear canals, the sound reminiscent of a _growl_. It drew my attention to the right almost instantly. Rachel startled, though I showed no other outward reaction than the turn of my head.

It was not like me to react so strongly unless prompted by my abilities. To the right of me by a few feet was a large, green tiger. For a second, ever so briefly, I wondered if I'd truly woken up from my previous hallucination.

Then the tiger took steps to walk around me, growling quietly, and I moved forward to stand by Rachel. I kept my eyes on the beast, but I did not feel any fear. Instead, I felt a light vibration in my hands. One accompanied by warmth.

It trotted off into the foliage and mess of fallen tree limbs on the other side of our path. Rachel held onto my arm, coming closer to me. "Was that a tiger?" she asked, mostly rhetorical.

"So, you saw it, too?"

Rachel did not get to respond. Instead, an airy sound of exhalation took its place as a head of green hair popped up above the foliage where the tiger had disappeared. It was not hard to recognize the boy who emerged from the bushes.

He was the one that approached us at the pinball machine in the roller rink. "It's okay, I don't bite," he assured, as he joined us on the path. He was pulling a back pack up onto his shoulder.

"Gar, right?" I asked, as Rachel finally let go of me.

"Yeah, that's me," he smiled, exhaling. Then he gestured with a hand as he took a step away, "Come on. I know a place to hide."

My eyes moved to meet Rachel's. She was already looking at me. I could see in her eyes the want to follow him, to want to continue farther away from the convent. After all she'd been through I could not blame her. So I nodded.

 **XXX**

Rachel and I followed Gar a long ways through the woods, then eventually out into an open plain of snow. In the plain sat a single house. A fairly large one—not unlike the house I grew up in.

He lead the way toward the house. A few yards from it was a stairway down to a bottom level. We stopped at the top as Rachel asked, "We're going down there?"

"Yeah. Cool, huh?" Gar beamed.

The boy all but skipped down the concrete steps to the door at the bottom. Nothing had come to me as harmful thus far—there was no reason not to trust this was a safe place. So I took the first steps down toward the door.

Rachel followed cautiously behind me, slower than my pace, reasonably so. Gar opened the door and held it, waiting patiently as both of us women made our way inside. The room was complete darkness.

"What is this place?" Rachel questioned, curiously

"I call it..." Gar flipped a switch by the door, and everything in the room lit up. A mini bar in the left corner with a fully stocked soda case, pinball and other arcade machines to the right across the room, with vintage posters and memorabilia covering the walls. He finished, "Nirvana."

"Holy shit," Rachel said, under her breath.

"I should tell you to watch your mouth," I said, stepping deeper inside the room. "But 'holy shit' is far too accurate."

Gar split to dive into the bar area, "You want a pop? I've got everything. Root beer? Orange Crush? _Grape_ Crush?"

"Grape," Rachel replied.

I found myself unable to respond to the offer. My feet came to a stop as my eyes landed on a vintage poster on the wall, propped up above a large television. _Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein_.

It was vaguely familiar to me. My subconscious mind finally recognized it, as Rachel came to my side. I had in fact seen the movie, though I was too young to remember much about it. One of my caretakers thought I'd like it, I remembered.

Which caretaker was uncertain. But I wondered if it might be my mother. "That's an original. Nineteen forty-eight. You ever see it?" Gar asked, from back in the bar area.

"Yes," I answered. Then, I turned to see Gar as he hurried around the furniture toward us. "Though, I'm afraid I was too young to enjoy it."

"You must have pretty cool parents," Gar commented, with an airy chuckle.

He handed Rachel a glass-bottled soda and she thanked him. "Well, my father wasn't very 'cool'. But, from what I've heard, my mother was fairly interesting," I replied to his comment. Gar paused, eyeing me with a blank but curious expression.

It was almost as though I could see the debate of whether or not to ask about it within his eyes. I simply stared back at him, in a kind of dare. Daring him to speak up and ask if he had a question. He visibly swallowed, before clearing his throat.

And finally, he spoke up, "Um...heard?"

"I never knew my mother—she died when I was a baby," I answered his question honestly, as a reward for his bravery.

Gar nodded slowly, his stare still a bit intense in thought. "So, uh...where are you from?" he asked, obviously trying to form small talk to lighten the load of his previous question.

"Originally, Gotham City."

"Gotham? No way," he suddenly lit up, eyes brightening as his smile widened in a stark display of teeth. "Have you met Batman?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but a much deeper voice spoke over me in an echo through a door in the far right corner of the room from us. " _Gar? Gar! You down there?!_ "

"Uh, you guys need to hide," Gar's face suddenly turned panicked as he surged forward, shoving both Rachel and I toward the door the sound was coming from. "Just, uh, hang out in the closet for a sec."

"Don't _touch_ me!" I hissed, lurching away from Gar.

He took a step back, his hands coming up and flailing a little, as though he touched something hot. But his panic was too much for him to freeze up. Instead he focused on ushering Rachel toward the closet, while I went willingly on my own.

Gar opened the closet door and pushed Rachel inside. He stepped back, gesturing a hand toward the closet with a smile—though the smile was covered with his nervousness. I tucked myself into the small space beside Rachel and Gar closed us in.

Increasingly heavy and loud footsteps gave the floor vibration seconds before the door beside the closet burst open. "Gar! Gar!" the now clear, metallic voice from before shouted.

"Hey, Cliff. What's up, dude?" Gar asked, nonchalantly.

"Who were you talking to?" the voice responded.

"Uh...myself," Gar answered, as though it should be obvious to whomever else was in the room. Then, quieter, Gar said, "Come on, Gar. You beat Super Mario World, you can beat this."

I didn't bother looking through the slats, but Rachel's face was all but plastered to them in a desperate search for answers. "Oh. Where were you today?" the voice asked Gar.

"Down here. Duh."

"Bullshit. You went to town again."

Gar cleared his throat, "Look, my controller broke and I had to get a new one. Okay? I knew I could get there and back before Chief came home."

"Oh, shit. Kid!"

"Relax. No one followed me. Kept a low profile."

"You want to keep a low profile, you wear a hat."

"Ha! Funny. That's a good joke. You know, I heard another good joke. Why was the robot mad? 'Cause someone kept pushing his buttons."

A metallic laugh dripped with sarcasm, "Keep pushing 'em. There'll be a green tiger-skin rug in my bedroom. Dinner, one hour. Come tell Larry what you want, brat."

"Alright. I'll be up in a minute."

"I was not put on this Earth to babysit," the voice said, as the sounds of heavy footsteps echoed away. The footsteps continued to echo for a moment. Then Gar sighed with relief.

"Phwew! That was close," he sighed.

Not a second after he spoke, the closet door was ripped open, and a metal face was put in its place. My head recoiled in a startle and Rachel shrieked loudly, partially deafening me. "Gotcha!" it said, with the same voice that was arguing with Gar.

My nose wrinkled, eyes narrowing in confusion, "What the _fuck_ even-"

"Come on, both of you," the metal being reached a hand in and grabbed Rachel's arm, giving her tug to pull her from the closet. Rachel stumbled forward on her feet with a sound of discomfort.

Instinctively, I lurched forward, shoving my palms into the metal man's chest, "Hands off, asshole!"

He grunted, shuffling backward on his metal feet in a teeter. Gar was shot up from his chair, watching with wide eyes already, but his lower jaw dropped three inches when the metal man moved.

It was clear that was not an expected reaction. My fingers wrapped around Rachel's arm and I quickly pulled her back, tucking her safely behind me. Odd sounds whirred and clicked as the metal man's head moved forward to glance down, then look back up.

Though, his whole upper body moved with his head, causing louder mechanical noises. "What the fuck?" he questioned, bewildered.

Gar quickly stepped forward, "Uh- um- I- Cliff, I can explain-"

"All three of you, out— _now_."

The metal man, Cliff, moved toward us with outstretched arms to shoo us toward the open door beside the closet. Sighing, I grabbed Rachel's arms and turned her in that direction before pushing, guiding her through the doorway.

Gar followed quickly behind us, the loud sounds of Cliff's heavy footsteps trailing along. We were herded to what appeared to be a main room of the house. All the furniture looked old, antique. Out of time. It was in high contrast to the robot man following us.

Cliff, as he was called, got us into the main room and stopped, allowing for us to stop as well. I took the opportunity to turn around and face him. There was something odd about him. Obviously, there was some kind of intelligent consciousness inside.

But I did not feel anything human. Tilting my head an inch, I narrowed my eyes, "So...you're a robot-"

"Here we go," Cliff sighed heavily.

"He's a robot _man_ ," Gar smiled excitedly at me.

"Oh, fuck me," Cliff said, turning his torso to look at Gar beside him.

"Cliff was a race car driver. A pretty famous one, too. He got into a bad accident. His body was pretty much kaput. Chief managed to save his brain-" Gar explained, before tapping his knuckles against the side of Cliff's head.

Cliff turned to him quickly, "Knock it off."

"-What little there was left of it."

"I'm sorry to interrupt the lovely discussion," I spoke up, gaining both Gar's and Cliff's attentions. But I looked only at Cliff as I took a shuffling step forward. "Do you mind if I…?"

I gestured vaguely in the direction of his head, and I could tell the look he was giving me was confusion based on his posture. "What?"

"Humor me, please."

My feet carried me to a space just in front of Cliff, and I reached up despite his and Gar's mumbling of confusion. I needed to see it for myself. Curiosity and a vaguely anxious urge in my chest begged me to do it so strongly I could not refuse.

The very instant my palms touched the metal on either side of his head, my muscles flooded with a dry chill. "Hey, what are you-!" Cliff stopped himself, a whirring sound taking place instead of whatever he was going to throw at me.

He leaned forward a little, allowing my heels to flatten against the flooring. With the cold that encased my body, a rush of vibrations and warmth began to follow through, melting away the stiffness my appendages were starting to exhibit.

I was filled with thoughts—they collected in a pool in the center of my conscious mind, before shooting out and hitting the backs of my eyelids. They played like an old film reel on a projector.

It was Cliff. Moments from his life, good and bad. Seeing the various memories through the veil of bittersweet nostalgia he'd covered them with brought a vibrative warmth to the center of my chest cavity. There was in fact life inside the metal.

After a quick moment, I pulled myself away, forcing my body to shuffle back from the metal man many steps. He righted himself slowly, held still from whatever he'd seen on his side. "Okay...what just happened?" Gar questioned, breaking the silence with cluelessness.

"You saw all that...didn't you?" Cliff asked me, rhetorically.

I nodded a little, though I was still seeing small snippets of life every second that I blinked. With the stillness of a noticeable absence, I turned my head to the left, and my eyes settled on an empty space. The space where Rachel once stood.

"Fuck," my shoulders dropped.

"Ah, shit," Cliff groaned. He shoved Gar forward by his shoulder. "Find her, you dumbass."

Gar mumbled something i'm sure was unpleasant as he hurried by me, into a hall. I followed quickly after him, though Cliff did not sound happy. With what I'd seen, it made sense to me—his coldness, the nature of his words.

If I had that kind of life, a life I loved, only to be dissected and never allowed to have it again, I would be angry and sad and lonely as well. The feeling I should have stayed dead would haunt me, too.

A faint echo of music somewhere near by traveled through my ears as Gar and I made our way down the hall. "Kitchen! Let's check the kitchen," he said, quickly diving in front of me to go to the right.

I nearly tripped over him, swearing under my breath as I righted myself. Cliff's heavy footsteps were not too far behind as I followed Gar into the kitchen. Sure enough, Rachel was just inside. Amongst the loud noise of fryers and hot pans was a roaring AC/DC song.

It was easily recognizable as Thunderstruck. "There you are," Gar said, causing Rachel to turn around in a startle. She relaxed when she saw us. Movement over her shoulder caught my eye, and I looked up to find another person in the kitchen.

It was a man, covered in skin tight bandages, while wearing a pair of sunglasses. He quickly turned off his music upon noticing us in the kitchen, just as Cliff arrived. "Nice music," I commented, pointing a finger at the stereo on the counter. "I'm more of a Highway To Hell girl myself."

"Really? You look like a Metallica fan to me," the man in bandages said, resting his hands on his hips.

Given the nature of his being, it was difficult to gather any social cues from him. But his voice sounded kind and casual. "Enter Sandman to the grave. Thank my boyfriend for that one," I shrugged, tilting my head in an expression.

The man chuckled, nodding, "Well, at least he's got good taste. Who might you two ladies be?"

"That's Beverly," Gar said, jutting a thumb at me. Then, pointing to Rachel, he added, "That's Rachel."

"I was just showing them out," Cliff spoke up from behind me.

The man in bandages cocked his head, "Out?"

"Before Chief gets back," Cliff clarified.

The bandaged man made a pfft sound and turned back to the pans on the stove, pushing something around with a spatula. "How do you two like your steaks?" he asked. "Unless your vegans, which would break my heart."

"They're not staying for dinner, _Larry_ ," Cliff protested.

Larry waved him away, "It'll be fine. Chief is gone until tomorrow. And even with Rita, we have plenty of food."

"And I am hungry," Rachel piped up beside me.

"And she _is_ hungry," Larry told Cliff. "Let's take a vote."

Larry held up his hand, and immediately Gar's shot into the air. Cliff was easily and quickly outnumbered. "Really?" he sighed, ruefully.

"Great. Gar, go set the table," Larry said, as he turned back to the loud pans behind him.

Gar took Rachel with him to the dining room, per my suggestion. I did not like the idea of Rachel being around so many strangers with abilities. Sending her to the dining room with Gar was the safest option, though they were all lacking.

Cliff would be fuming, I was sure, if he were able to. The idea didn't set well with him for reasonable concerns, it seemed. I took steps toward Larry, exhaling, "Do you need any help?"

"Well, I've got most of this under control. But you know what you could do? I've got some bell peppers that need chopping right over there for the salad," Larry turned to see me as I stepped up beside him, pointing to a cutting station on the other side of the stove as he spoke.

"Great."

I nodded once and started around the end of the stove top's counter. Larry glanced up at me from his pans once I'd reached the other side. "Do you have culinary experience?" he inquired, curiously.

"Some. A friend of mine—a rich one—had a butler that was pretty good. He taught me a few things about cooking," I answered, knotting my hair at the back of my head before plucking the knife from the cutting board.

He hummed thoughtfully, "Interesting. So, what can you do?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Obviously you're here because you can do something other people can't," Larry clarified, as he hurried around the kitchen to another station. "What is it that you do?"

"She's a mind reader," Cliff piped up.

Larry sounded intrigued, "Really?"

"Well, no, it's not that simple," I shook my head, keeping my eyes on the rapidly moving blade in my hand. "Every living thing has a vibrative frequency—I can feel those frequencies and from there determine locations or emotions. The frequencies tell me when someone will die and how."

The kitchen quieted a bit. "No shit," Cliff commented, a reactionary comment of surprise and bewilderment.

"Sometimes I feel death vibrations from objects, or I see it happening through visions and dreams. When I touch people, I can read their vibrations for emotions. But if they've died-"

"You can see their memories," Cliff finished, knowingly.

I nodded, scooping up bits of pepper and dumping them into the large bowl Larry had filled with other salad ingredients. Larry chuckled once, airy and full of awe, "Wow! That's definitely unique."

"It's funny, I've never...heard anyone call it that before, like it was a _good_ thing," I said, stopping to turn toward Larry.

"Well, everyone's got good things and bad things—they come as a package deal. Right, Cliff?" Larry replied, turning the steaks.

Cliff only grunted, turning away. I looked on at the metal man, eyes weighted with sadness. Though I was not made of metal, I felt like I could relate to the man's struggles. I, too, missed my former life dearly. And I also can never get it back.


	7. Doomed

_**I HELPED CARRY OUT THE DISHES**_ **.** Larry and I brought the plates of various food items to the table in the dining room while the others got seated. Helping out in the kitchen was reminiscent of my time with Alfred at Wayne Manor.

Larry's personality and general attitude did remind me a bit of Alfred—if Alfred had been a little younger, of course. The last dishes were placed on the table and Larry and I took our seats.

Cliff and Larry sat across the table on one side while Rachel, Gar, and I sat on the opposite side in that order. "Alright, then," Larry said, sitting in his seat.

"Let's eat," Gar beamed.

The others at the table immediately began to devour their dinners, but I was slow in pushing around my salad. I had every confidence that Dick would be able to locate Rachel and I. Though, a seed of worry had been planted the moment the sun set.

It made me wonder just why it'd been so long. If we would ever be found here. If Rachel even wanted to be found. And if Rachel did not want to be found, would my body force me to stay here with her for as long as she stayed?

Larry, the kind soul, was the first to notice my stillness. "I would be offended but, well, you _were_ the one who finished the salad," he commented, making a lighthearted joke.

My eyes lifted from my plate then as I inhaled, breathing reality back into my thought-consumed bones, "Oh. I'm sorry. I just have...a lot on my mind."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Larry offered.

It drew everyone's eyes to my position. But, never the less, it was a kind offer with purely good intentions. "I'm not so sure you'd want to be eating with me if I did," I gave a small shake of my head.

"Oh, come on," Larry sat back in his chair. "We're all basket cases here, there's no need to feel self-conscious about it."

My eyes snapped to my immediate left as they caught movement. It was Gar, leaning toward me in his seat, lowering his voice as he spoke to me, "It's okay, you don't have to if you don't want to."

I appreciated his empathy for the situation, though I felt myself leaning toward speaking regardless. These people were hidden from the world for a reason. To whom, exactly, would they spill my secrets? They would have no choice but to keep them.

As sadistic as that sounded, it was something enticing to me. "Well...sometimes I...get these weird visions. Sometimes memories, sometimes predictions," I spoke up, however cautiously. "I had one today of my mother—I thought I'd never met her, but..."

"But what?" Larry asked, intrigued.

Slowly, I shook my head in confusion of my own thoughts, "This vision was a memory—I know that for sure. But my mother was there, when I was at least six years old. According to my father, everyone who knew her, and her headstone, she died when I was less than a year old."

A tense hush fell over the dining room. That was to be expected. In the quiet, Gar's hesitant voice arose with a question. "Well...maybe it wasn't a real memory? You know, like, something you wanted to see but it wasn't really there?" he purposed.

I thought about it for a quiet minute. It was not common for my body to show me things that were not real in some way. Nothing in the future had been wrong—why would the past be any different?

"I don't think so…" I shook my head, then shrugged. "Though, I suppose anything's possible."

"Tell us about yourself, Beverly. We know what you can do, but what are some things you like? Hobbies, interests?" Larry changed the subject, lighthearted in tone.

I inhaled sharply, "Whiskey—hobby and interest."

"My kind of girl," Cliff commented, in approval.

"I'm pretty good at throwing knives," I continued, to which I received many intrigued hums. "You already know I listen to Metallica. My favorite color is red—ironically, crimson. I like dancing. I used to take ballet when I was a kid."

"I loved dancing!" Cliff said, his torso moving with his head in his effort to look downward. "I loved to eat, to swim, to dance..."

"Why can't you dance?" Rachel asked him, curiously.

"Oh, forget it. You're young. Nobody's dancing with this," Cliff tapped his metal head with his knuckles.

A bubble of something indistinguishable popped inside my chest, coating the walls in a heavy bittersweetness. Instinctively, I pushed back my chair and stood. "What are you doing?" Gar asked, giving me a puzzled look.

I stepped around the back of his chair, walking toward the end of the table. "Come on, get up," I gestured for Cliff to stand, reaching the end. "You can't make a statement like that and get away with it."

"Uh oh. You better get up, Cliff," Larry commented, humored.

Cliff's machinery made whirring sounds, "You're kidding, right?"

"Get your metal ass out of your chair. Now," I told him, gesturing again.

He sighed heavily—an action I still was unsure exactly how he could accomplish with only a human brain—and began to get up from his chair. Gar and Rachel were onlooking with wide grins of anticipation. I couldn't help grinning a bit myself.

Finally Cliff was on his feet, and he stepped around the corner of the table to join me. "Have you done much formal dancing?" I inquired of him.

"Uh...once or twice, I think," he replied, a little unsure.

"That's alright. We'll do a refresher. Put your right hand on my waist," I instructed, taking a step forward. I reached out and took his large, metal hand and eased it onto my waist in the proper place. "There. And your left goes in my right."

Hesitantly, he lifted his own left hand. I carefully placed my right hand in his open palm and his fingers gently closed around it. My left hand rested on his shoulder. Cliff was slightly hunched forward to better help with the height gap, though I was used to drastic height differences.

Most people in my life over the years had been taller than me by several inches. It was nothing new. But it was a kind gesture I appreciated. "Just follow my steps, nice and slowly," I again instructed.

"If I step on you, something's gonna break-"

"Cliff, the reason women aren't dancing with you is because of your _pessimism_ —not your appearance," I told him, giving him a disapproving look that earned his seriousness. "You've got this."

The machinery made more whirring sounds as he looked down a moment. I took the initiative and moved my foot, encouraging him to follow along with a reassuring expression. After a second of pause, he did begin to participate, and I continued the steps.

I counted aloud quietly as we took the steps, a verbal guideline for him to follow as the steps repeated. Every movement was slow and methodical. But that was understandable and to be expected. So I was patient.

Larry let out a laugh of disbelief, clapping his bandaged hands together. "Well, I'll be!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "I didn't know you had it in you, Cliff."

"You're doing great," I told Cliff, encouragingly.

Cliff replied with a sarcastic question, "You dance with a lot of robots, huh?"

"No. But I wouldn't want to—it takes the shine out of it," I answered him.

He laughed a little, and a warmth spread through my chest at the display of humanity. It brought a certain feeling of security to my worried and withered mind that I was very grateful for. But the moment passed as a female voice cut right through it.

"Well, isn't this a lovely surprise?"

The dancing came to a halt as both of us turned our heads in the direction of the voice. It'd come from a woman with dark hair and thin features, wearing a vibrant red dress straight from a vintage store.

She was pretty, with a thin frame and a happiness that radiated off of her. "If I had known there was dancing, I would've gotten here sooner. Sorry I'm late," she said, taking steps toward the dinner table. "I was putting myself together—you know it takes me a while."

It seemed like a silent something passed between Cliff and I, indicating the next course of action was for both of us to return to our seats—so we did. I slid into my seat next to Gar, and he leaned toward me, speaking quietly, "That was really cool, Bev."

I was paused at the unauthorized nickname, but I decided to let it drop. Instead, I answered him, "What can I say? I have a thing for damaged men."

"It's so nice to have guests from outside," the new woman said, pulling a large steak onto her plate and topping it with spaghetti. Most of the food items on the table went somewhere on her plate. It was a miracle it didn't spill. "How exciting! I'm Rita."

"Rachel," Rachel introduced herself with a polite nod.

Rita's gaze shifted in my direction, prompting me to speak up next. "Beverly," I answered the silent question, before clearing my throat.

"Delighted to meet you both," she smiled wildly.

Her hands still put more and more food onto her plate, taking a moment longer before finally sitting at the head of the table with the mountain she'd created. The sight of all those different food items together gave my stomach a sour twinge.

So I averted my eyes to my plate. It was rude to stare anyway. "My condition requires a particularly high caloric intake," Rita said, calmly. "Can you pass the gravy, please?"

The thought was even more nauseating. I almost spoke up, but thought better of it. Eighty percent of my daily struggle typically involved keeping my mouth shut as it was. My eyes dared a glance up as Rita was emptying the gravy boat on her plate.

I sat back in my seat, head absentmindedly tilting as I watched her start to eat. It was the most curious thing. Watching her I wondered just what exactly would cause someone to eat that much in one sitting—and be able to keep it all down.

Rita sat back in her chair after a bite and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. "Well, this is absolutely delicious, Larry," she complimented.

"Someone kiss the cook," Larry said. Rita began laughing and Larry continued, glancing around the table, "Anyone- I'll take it from anyone. Anybody? Alright, no takers. Alright."

Everyone at the table at least laughed a little at his humor, though I only displayed a closed-mouthed smile. I could feel it—a shift in the room. A drastic change in a vibration, lowering the temperature in the depths of my chest.

Instinctively my head turned, eyes landing straight on Rita. She had paused amongst the leftover chuckling. Her features were pulled tight in discomfort, hand clutching her fork so tight it trembled. Then the right side of her face shifted.

The skin bubbled with a grumbled noise, her cheek expanding and drooping from her face. "Are you okay?" Rachel asked her, concerned. Immediately, Rita dropped her fork, her hand instead flying up to cover the drooped side of her face.

"I, um…I should've stayed in bed," Rita spoke quietly, eyes downcast.

Rachel scooted closer in her chair, and I knew what she was going to do. I opened my mouth to speak, sitting forward in my seat, but Rachel reached forward before a word could be uttered. As her hand touched Rita's, a heat sparked at the base of my skull.

It flared out and intensified, encasing my whole head with warmth, as thoughts flooded in. Thoughts and memories consisting of screaming and hysterical laughter in a padded room. At that moment I wanted out.

I knew the scenery all too well. Rita was in a mental institution. That much was clear. And to a place like that was the very last place on this planet I would ever want to return. The memories let go of me, flooding out of my mind.

They left behind a dull throbbing in what felt like the center of my brain. I reached up a hand and massaged my right temple, sitting back in my seat with a grimace, as the echos of Rita's screams fought to keep from dying out.

"It's okay," Rachel told Rita, speaking softly. "I'm not afraid of you."

The cold that had shifted the vibration was slowly heating. But all in the room was interrupted when the doors on the other side of the table flew open. In stepped an older man with gray hair and a matching mustache.

He wore a dirty trench coat and a displeased expression. "Who are they?" he blandly questioned. In with him flooded a tight, rigid frequency that pinched at my nerves. It was uncomfortable.

"Uh, Chief, I can explain," Gar piped up, nervously.

"Later. I have a new patient," Chief said. With the sound of those words, all at the table but me and Rachel abruptly shot up from their chairs to follow the man back out of the room.

As the others flooded out of the room, Rachel quickly got up from her seat and scurried around the table to follow them. "Rachel, No!" I called after her, getting up. She didn't listen, as expected, and disappeared through the door. " _Shit_."

I hurried around the end of the table and ran through the doors after Rachel. There was no way I was letting her go anywhere alone with these people, not when the Chief was with them. The vibrations from him were too wrong.

My feet carried me rapidly down the hall, not too far behind Rachel and the others. Rachel was directed into another hallway up ahead, so I didn't bother turning off with the others—I simply continued after Rachel.

Finally, I caught up with her. When I did we were standing on a kind of viewing platform. A second level spot with a railing and a spiral staircase of metal leading down into the lab-like room below us. I was instantly enthralled in the action below.

Though, not for the same reasons as Rachel. I was watching for the purpose of gathering more intelligence on these people. The Chief did not feel right. These people were all a little off.

Now they were trying to treat a woman whom had been—according to Chief—engulfed in liquid nitrogen. Her body emitted the white clouds of frost as though she herself was liquid nitrogen, and she just might have been.

The Chief's great plan was inject some kind of serum into her IV. My eyes were narrowed, brows knitted, as I watched carefully for a reaction. This reaction, however, was not good. Her body temperature dropped, the machines wailed as all other vital signs flat-lined.

Chief called for blankets, and the others scrambled to get them. Rachel turned to go down the stairs and I did not stop her. There was no harm to her trying. After all, nothing concerning this woman had entered my mind.

As of yet, she was not to die. They started to drape blankets over her but she was waking up. She began to thrash, shouting in panic. I recognized the language she spoke as Vietnamese.

Gar held tightly to her legs to stop her from kicking while Rita and Larry held down her torso. Rachel marched quickly across the room and shoved her way into the mess. She immediately grabbed the girl's hand, holding it tightly between hers.

I could feel it, the physical pull in my gut. My fingers gripped tightly to the metal railing to ground myself as I continued to only watch. Getting involved, with my track record, was no plausible plan. But Rachel could actually help.

She spoke to the woman in English, but she appeared to understand what Rachel was saying, calming enough for her vitals to begin rising to normal levels again. And finally, she calmed enough to sleep.

Rachel took a step back from the girl, "She needs to rest."

My eyes focused on the way Chief looked at Rachel. There was something unreadable in his features—but it was something, whatever it was, that threatened to boil my blood. It was a protective snake coiling around my neck.

Just then, Rachel glanced up at me on the second level, almost as though she could sense the strong emotions flooding my veins. The strong emotions I was vehemently sure were a warning.

They sedated the woman on the table and then it seemed as though everything was as it were before Chief arrived. All were in cheerful, jovial spirits. Larry went to the kitchen to ready dessert. Chief pulled Gar aside for a chat.

Rita and Cliff sat with Rachel and I at the dinner table. I hadn't realized, once again, what my body had decided to do at such an inopportune time. Not until Rachel suddenly turned to me, eyes wide, speaking quietly, "You're bleeding again."

The notion had prompted me to look down and, sure enough, I'd bled through yet another shirt. "Ah, fuck," I mumbled, under my breath, as I peeled the blood-soaked fabric from my skin.

It was stuck to me like a wet bandage. The fabric was weighted, but it easily held when I folded it up, out of the way. "Would you happen to have a suture kit?" I asked, looking up at Rita and Cliff.

Rita looked a little worried by my sudden display of an active injury. But she calmly stated there was one in the lab area we'd come from and hurried to go retrieve it. "Who'd you piss of to get that shiner?" Cliff questioned, sarcastically curious.

I peeled the gauze from my abdomen as I replied, "Some psycho in D.C. The asshole used my knife to do it."

"Well, that's gotta sting."

The dry sarcasm dripping from the comment elicited a humorless laugh deep within my subconscious. Rita hurried back into the dinning room with a small kit in hand, and she got the kit to me. "Here, let me help you with that," she offered, opening up the kit.

"No, that's alright. I have a thing about…people touching me," I told her, as she set the kit on the table between us. "It causes my abilities to act up."

"Oh...alright, then."

She nodded a little, righting herself, then slowly made her way back to her seat. From the look of it, though I was a bloody mess, i'd only broken through two or three stitches. That was easily fixed.

I threaded the medical grade needle inside the kit and leaned back in my chair, one hand holding the skin together while the other stabbed the needle through it. Just as I was tying off the first suture, Chief and Gar returned.

They walked in the room from the entrance behind my chair. And for a moment they did not notice. Then Gar sat in his chair and immediately stiffened, before turning to face me. In doing so, his eyes fell down to the bloody mess. "Oh my god, Bev, what happened?" he turned fully toward me on his chair, speaking quickly.

I shook my head, shoving the needle into my skin again, "Flesh wound. I'm fine."

"Flesh wound? You're bleeding quite a lot for that to be a flesh wound."

"Do not argue with me, Garfield."

"Do not bleed out in my dinning room!"

I sighed heavily, "I'm not going to bleed out."

"Good! That would get really messy," he said, coming down from his momentarily panicked high. He turned straight on in his chair, but I could still feel his eyes on me as I continued working.

Chief spoke up next, confused, "Someone has had an injury?"

"It's a stab wound," Cliff replied, nonchalantly. "She's taking care of it."

"If you would like, we have things to help with the pain— and antiseptic, bandages-" Chief spoke calmly, pleasantly. But it was not hard to immediately reject his offer.

I clipped off the final suture and shook my head, looking up at him from the wound with a newfound spiteful ignition, "No. That's alright."

Chief's eyes lingered on mine as he held his interrupted position, unmoving as he searched me quizzically. I held my position until the bitter end, until I needed to look away to finish fixing my yet again damaged wound.

Larry brought out dessert and a new energy filled the room. Though, I kept Chief's stare in the back of my mind. He was a man of science. Always thinking, always concocting, always wondering what else he could do that he hadn't before.

People like that were the worst kind of people. The only reason I escaped Arkham was because of an unforeseen transfer. My father had decided to trust the word of a conniving medical scientist such as the Chief who had promised him a cure.

A cure for me, for whatever I'd become. I was full of disgusting drugs from the Arkham doctors but I still saw my only real chance for escape. And I took it.

Now, looking at the Chief, I only saw a man who wanted to exploit the misery of other beings for his own personal gain. For the sake of his own blood-lust like curiosity. I would not let Rachel become another Cliff, another Larry, another Rita, or another Gar.

I couldn't stomach anything if I tried, so I sat out on dessert, but I stayed at the table. I'd redressed the wound in my abdomen before everyone had started eating. Gar offered to lend me a shirt, and I could not decline or accept before he disappeared to get one.

He was so eager, so desperate to help me in some way that I most likely would have let him get one for me out of pity anyway. When Gar returned, he gave me the shirt as I stepped out of the room to change.

It was a cotton, long-sleeved shirt with a Star Trek logo on the chest. But I wouldn't have expected anything less from him. Once I'd eased myself out of the bloodied shirt and into the new one, I returned to the dinning room.

When I reentered, Chief was talking to Rachel about his experiments. The words that alarmed me were the ones he uttered as I reached my seat— _I can help you, too_.

My fingers gripped tightly to the back of the chair—so tightly my knuckles turned paper white—and the protective beast inside me roared without much consent from my conscious mind. "Don't you dare lay a hand on her, Doctor Octopus," I hissed.

Gar physically startled from the tone of my voice, being so close to my position when I spoke. Chief's head snapped up almost immediately, his eyes finding mine again, this time with a glossed effect. A hush had, reasonably, fallen over the room once again.

"What makes you think you get to make decisions on behalf of someone else?" Chief calmly asked me, gesturing a hand toward Rachel.

"Because she's a fucking _child_ and she is under _my_ protection, _my_ responsibility," my voice rose with every word, my feet moving in slow steps toward the head of the table where he sat. "You think it's your right to play God as long as you say it's for science?"

Chief sat back in his chair, looking up at me with a puzzled expression as I finally reached the end of the table, "What i'm doing here is helping people—I saved their lives-"

"You destroyed their lives! Look at Cliff—does he look _happy_ to you? What _quality_ of life is that?" I questioned, aggressively, as I leaned down to rest my palm against the corner of the table top.

"Beverly-" Rachel tried to stop me. But I kept going.

"What about Rita? She's fucking terrified of losing her shape forever, you can see it in her face," I said, standing upright again. "And Larry is, what- stuck in those wraps for the rest of eternity? You think this is helping people?! This is a perversion and people are _suffering_!"

Wood against tile shrieked like nails against a chalkboard, seconds before Gar's voice pierced through the intensity of the rage in my blood, getting closer by the second. "Okay, that's enough," he spoke quietly, arriving at my side. "Come on—you need to cool off."

He wrapped an arm around my front to tug me back, to tug me away from Chief's chair before I could inflict any kind of physical damage. My eyes seared marks into Chief's despite my willingness to backpedal along with Gar.

The man, the monster, stared back at me—his face soaked in a cocktail of disgust and offense as though I'd mixed the drink myself and thrown it on him. And I was proud. I was spitefully proud of the things I'd said, because they were true.

There was no quality to the lives he'd saved. Sure, they were alive. But for what purpose? To what end? Being his slaves until he dies? These people had all been touched by death. It was truly a perversion of nature to destroy fate's timeline.

In this way, for these reasons—any and all intents and purposes were abominations. When people are marked to die, that is how it's supposed to be. If I saved everyone meant to die since the beginning, the world would have spiraled into apocalypse.

There were to many variables. And who was to say the person you saved would not end up dying anyway, but from something completely different? If it's meant to happen, it will find a way to happen. That was not simply a catch phrase from a movie.

It was reality. Gar dragged me from the dinning room as I seethed, the only one brave enough to dare attempt removing me from the situation. "What's going on with you?" he questioned, as the doors were shut behind us.

He let go of me and I took steps away from him, pacing away a few feet before walking back. Clenching and releasing fists at my sides as I breathed heavily. It was a kind of rage I had not felt for many years—pure and untameable.

Shaking my head slowly, I turned around to pace again, "I've felt this insane need to protect Rachel since before I'd even met her. It makes me do things I normally wouldn't—but this anger inside me right now is completely me. My body not does like Chief and, well, you just heard why."

"But he is saving people," Gar pointed out, optimistically confused.

"People that aren't supposed to be saved."

"So...if you saw me when I was sick and dying...you would've let me die?"

His words caused my heart to sink to my toes with a bitter reality. It was in my nature to allow the universe to do as it pleases. If I am told one must die, they die. If they are to live, I show restraint. I am merely an instrument of order.

Yet, when posed this question, I began to rethink my very livelihood. In all reality, the answer would be yes. My body would not allow me to do anything to help him no matter how much I wanted to. But the purely, innocently human parts of me answered no.

I stared at the floor for a long bout of silence. Finally, my eyes flicked up, straight to Gar's face. His face had dropped drastically, relaxing to the point of falling right into sadness, the lights above causing a shimmer to befall his eyes.

He was genuinely about to cry. And in the anxious turmoil his question had given me, along with the guilt at causing this boy any pain at all, my first instinct was to pull him into my arms. "What's inside me makes me do things...I don't want to do," I said, my arms securely around his neck. "I'm _so_ sorry."

"It's okay...I understand," Gar nodded against my shoulder, despite his voice.

I'd felt terrible. Once again what I thought made me a peacemaker, someone justifying humanity's wrongs for the good of the innocent, in reality only made me a monster. A monster no better than the Chief, or any murderer I killed.

I took a step back from him, placing my hands firmly on his shoulders, "Listen to me, Garfield. Chief did right when he saved you. But the others weren't so fortunate, and it's unfair to them. What's inside Rachel is too much for him to use as a Guinea pig. If he 'helps' her, she will _suffer_."

Gar slowly nodded, seemingly beginning to understand my point. "He wouldn't hurt her, though," he said. "I mean, if she refused, he wouldn't force her or anything."

"He better not—I'm not exactly playing Devil's advocate today," I replied, retracting my hands.

As the appendages relaxed at my sides, my fingertips were touched by a deathly familiar vibration, my chest warming. Dick was close by. The revelation widened my eyes, causing my tired nerves to come alive. "We need to get Rachel," I told Gar, quickly.

"Uh, okay. Why?" he asked, curiously.

I quickly walked through the dinning room door, the soft sounds of Gar following behind me like a lost puppy echoing in my ears. When I reentered the room my eyes went straight to the last place I had seen the girl—her chair.

The piece of furniture was empty. My eyes instinctively shifted to the right, to the Chief's equally empty chairs, and I let out an anger and utter worry filled exhale. "Where's Rachel?" I questioned, looking to the others at the table.

Larry was the only one willing to speak, it seemed. "She went with Chief to the lab," he answered me. "He's going to run a few tests."

My blood was boiling. Though, Gar placed a hand on my shoulder as he stepped up beside me, about to walk right by me. "Come on, I'll take you there," he said, urging me to follow him with a facial expression of importance.

I nodded and followed him through the dinning room, out the other side into the hall. We hurried down the halls to the place we'd been earlier in the night. The place where Rachel had helped the freezing woman.

Rachel was strapped to the reclined chair with thick, leather buckles when we arrived. She squirmed against them, declining the tests after all. "No. No, I don't want this anymore," she shook her head quickly. "Let me up."

"This is for your own good, my child. I promise," Chief spoke calmly, drawing purple liquid into a large syringe.

"What the hell are you doing?" I questioned, walking fast toward them.

The Chief looked up instantly, his posture changing to one of defense as I approached. Gar was right behind me, throaty growls rumbling from him. Chief's hand lurched to a space hidden by the chair, then pulled it back to reveal some kind of weapon.

He aimed it at Gar, firing a green dart into Gar's shoulder. It was obviously a tranquilizer. That's what my body told me as I continued forward, sidestepping to miss a dart aimed for me, and walked right up to the chair.

A third dart shot from the gun and I bent far to the right to miss it, quickly righting myself as my hand shot out. My fingers wrapped around the weapon and pulled forcefully, yanking it from his hands, before quickly connecting it with the side of his face.

The Chief stumbled to the left, the syringe fumbling from his hands and shattering against the hard tile flooring. Rachel's back arched off the chair, fighting the restraints in a sudden burst of dark vibrations that rippled up my spine.

They rippled up my spine and to the base of my skull where they turned into a dizzying combination of anger and pain and the adrenaline from both. It rapidly increased my pulse, quickening my lungs' pace, causing the lightheadedness.

Another wave of vibrations hit me hard as Rachel did it again, this time loosing an inky substance from her mouth. The substance drifted up into a whirl as a strong wind carried it, the power surge causing the lights in the room to immediately become powerless.

I stumbled backward against the winds and the pain in my skull, my fingernails digging into my scalp. It felt like a razor blade had been surgically implanted in my brain. The sharp metal moved freely, carving through the tissue.

It sent strong bolts of pain and electricity through the nerves in my skin, pulsing in my muscles, and every organ inside of me. The pain was almost unbearable. Yet still, I did my best to look up. The inky substance swirled high in the air.

Something about it almost looked peaceful. But the things it was making me feel were terrifying. Suddenly the ink lunged downward, wrapping a tentacle of black around the Chief's torso. "Rachel!" I shouted into the wind. "That's enough! Stop this!"

The girl remained unmoving. However, the black lifted Chief off the ground, raising him high into the air, and shot from left to right. Its movements cracked like a whip. Chief hollered in terror as he was thrashed about.

I moved forward as quickly as I could, stumbling in every which direction on my way. My hand stretched out before my body had arrived at my destination, fingers wrapping around Rachel's arm. The contact sent a charge through my body.

It started in my palm—rocketing up through the veins and tissue in my arm, then flaring out as it reached my shoulder. When it reached my chest, all in a matter of milliseconds, something electric burst within my rib cage.

My body was thrusted backward, vaulted briefly into the air before thudding against the hard flooring on my back several feet away. A strangled cry escaped me from the sharp burning in my spine due to the rough landing.

Still, I was desperate to get Rachel's attention. I'd told her that I mastered living with my abilities. This was not even a first step. I threw my weight to the left, rolling onto my side in order to press my palms into the floor, pushing myself up a bit.

Chief was flung in a sudden snap, his body hitting the wall with a dense thud. He fell to the floor, unconscious, and the black retracted. Suddenly Rachel arched off the table again—this time with a metallic, echoed scream—and the leather straps broke.

With a pang of panic in my chest, I pulled my body backward rapidly across the floor, gritting my teeth against the screams of protest from my throbbing muscles.

I didn't stop until my back hit the door frame. Once I'd made it I pulled myself to my feet and stumbled from the room, desperate for an escape. Desperate for a reprieve. The whole ordeal caused much pain. But it also left a burning in my lungs.

It left a certain anxiousness I'd felt only once or twice in my lifetime. I wanted to scream. Scream from the pain, scream from the horror of it all, and scream from the incredible surge of energy filling my veins so much it hurt.

I almost felt as though I was a grenade whose pin had been long pulled and, any moment now, there was sure to be a devastating explosion. My right hand stayed against the wall as I stumbled along the hallway as quickly as I could without tripping over myself.

My left hand pressed firmly against the bandaged wound in my side, one that was most likely in need of another new set of stitches. Once I'd made it out to the main hall, I turned left. The above lights were fluttering on and off.

It made it increasingly difficult to see, and to stay upright with its dizzying effect. With the lights fluctuating I could not help but miss the incoming body. I collided with the oncoming traffic.

Our fronts thudded together, frantic arms tangling a startled mess. But the second we hit I felt a sense of calm warm the chill of my anxious bones, and I knew. It was Dick. The lights flickered on for a split second, only lending credence to my instinct.

"Savannah?" Dick asked, in surprise, his grip on my shoulders the only thing holding me upright.

My body flooded with a bit of relief, "Oh, thank God! Rachel's losing it! I can't get close to her and she's not listening."

"Alright—are _you_ okay?" he questioned. His eyes quickly scanned my face before moving downward, checking my side wound the best he could in the terrible lighting.

Against my head's wishes, I nodded, "I'm fine. I am."

"Where's Rachel?"

"This way."

I gestured lightly with a tilt of my head and pulled away from him to walk back in the direction of the lab. Again I held to the wall to stay up, but I was able to move much faster with the less chaotic vibrations I received from Dick.

We made it to the doorway of the lab. Rachel was standing across the room in front of an upright, purple circle that only seemed to fuel the hectic mess of black swirling in the air. The winds had picked up and become more aggressive.

Dick didn't hesitate to enter the room, however careful his steps may be. He waded into the swirls of black and I remained at the entrance, propped against the doorway. There was no way I would be able to muster the strength to go in.

Not after the last time I tried to get close to her. "Rachel! Rachel!" Dick called to her, his voice getting lost in the loud winds. He grabbed her arm and turned her around, forcing her to focus on something other than the purple circle.

"You're going to die," Rachel's voice was metallic and echoed. Then, more emotional, more human, she continued, "You need to leave. Before it's too late!"

"I'm not leaving you!" Dick shook his head.

"You have to go. I don't wanna hurt you."

"Rachel, listen to me! You're not alone. Okay? I was wrong. You're not alone—you have me. I'm not going anywhere," Dick told Rachel.

He moved forward and boldly wrapped his arms around her, bringing her into a secure hug. The moment they embraced was the moment the black began to fade out. Inky swirls disappeared into the purple as it rapidly closed.

And, when it was closed, it vanished. A haunting calm fell over the war-torn room in the chaos's absence. The pressure between my eyes ceased, the tension from my body drained away—and finally, I could relax.

Still, there was pain. But I did not feel anything out of the ordinary associated with this mess. Movement and the sound of footsteps drew my eyes upward to the second floor viewing area. Kory had come to the railing.

Behind her were Rita, Larry, and Cliff. "You okay down there?" Kory asked, with an empathetic grimace as she noticed my stance against the doorway.

"I'll survive," I replied, taking deep breaths to calm down.

"Did I hurt you?"

My attention was pulled back to the ground floor at the sound of Rachel's voice. She had come to stand a few feet from me, visibly hesitant in coming any closer. I shook my head, "Nothing an ice pack won't fix."

"I'm so sorry," Rachel shook her head slowly, features ridden with guilt. "I don't know what came over me-"

I pushed off the doorway and shuffled across the space between us. As I reached her, I wrapped my right arm around her, pulling her into me in the best hug I could manage with my side wound.

Her arms wrapped tightly around my middle, and I spoke quietly to her, "Never blame yourself for something you cannot control. Learn from it, and do better. Okay?"

"Okay," Rachel nodded, pulling away from me.

Larry and Rita tended to the Chief while Cliff and Gar went with the rest of us to the front room of the house. Gar explained to Dick and Kory the nature of this group of misfits while we waited for the others.

I stood slightly hunched, arm still wrapped tightly around my middle. Noticing this, Dick slid off his jacket and pulled it over my shoulders, this time putting an arm around me to keep me at his side.

With the wild whiplash of the day, I did not blame him. In fact it was comforting to be close to him again. I found myself curling into his chest, resting the side of my head against his shoulder as the others conversed, and Dick wrapped his other arm around my frame.

It wasn't too long before Larry and Rita joined us in the front room, and then it was time for us to leave. We walked out the front of the house to the driveway, where the Porsche sat waiting. Kory opened the passenger side door and gestured for Rachel to get in.

Dick let go of me only to allow for me to also head to the passenger side of the vehicle. Before I got there completely, a tug in the pit of my stomach forced me to stop, turning around on my heels. "You could come with us, you know," I said, looking to Gar.

He stood in front of the group of misfits sending us off. "Oh, uh..." he looked down and away, obviously trying to think of a way to decline—even when he wanted to come along.

Cliff gave Gar's shoulder a shove, pushing him forward, "Go with them."

"W-what about you guys?" Gar questioned, turning to face them all.

"Chief's back is broken again. We'll take care of him," Larry answered.

"He helped us, Gar," Rita added. "We owe it to Chief to help him now."

"Well...maybe you guys can come? I mean, you don't have to hide anymore," Gar tried.

Cliff sighed, "It is what it is, kid."

"Buy you..." Rita stepped forward and pulled the zipper up on Gar's jacket, before handing him his backpack. "Can have more than us."


	8. Skin In The Game

_**I'D WOKEN UP A FEW TIMES**_ **.** I only truly remembered doing it once. We were at a car dealership. Dick had traded the Porsche in for a Minivan, so I needed to wake up in order to switch cars. At the time my mind was on other things—I did not think much of it.

Then I woke up a final time in the passenger seat of the Minivan, stopped in the parking lot of a dirty motel. "Anna," Dick spoke softly, a hand on the side of my shoulder.

I lifted my head off the window, craning my neck to see him in my leaned-over position, "What?"

"Time to wake up. We're here."

Nodding, I pushed myself upright in my seat before rubbing my tired eyes with the backs of my hands. It'd been so long since I felt so truly, so completely, _tired_. Every fiber of my being begged for more rest. But I could not—I needed to wake up.

Dick slid out of the driver's side of the minivan and shut his door behind him, then walked to the office of the motel. Most likely to get rooms for us all. My whole body jolted and I inhaled sharply as Gar's head burst through the middle of the seats.

"You've been asleep for a long time, Bev," Gar chuckled, mouth a wide grin. "We thought you were dead."

Exhaling to calm myself, I replied, "Trust me, you'll know when I'm dead."

"While we're sitting here with nothing to do," Kory spoke up, from the back. "I never did find out exactly what it is you do. Dick said something about being able to tell when someone's going to die?"

Gar climbed into the driver's seat then, dropping into the empty space in a position perfectly posed to face me. As though he were preparing for story time at a library. I tilted my head with a sigh, considering a response.

Kory, this woman whom I did not truly know, had not yet earned my trust. Yet the others in the vehicle had. So I decided to tell her what I tell everyone who asks of my abilities, "Every living thing carries a vibrative frequency that I can feel. If I focus on one, I can determine location and emotion."

"Where does the death part come into it?" Gar inquired, curiously.

"The...vibrations...they tell me who will die and when—not everyone all at once. Just specific individuals my unconscious mind deems necessary," I explained.

My eyes remained forward, stuck on the door in which Dick disappeared into. The moment he stepped out would be the moment I could make my escape from the vehicle—more specifically, this line of conversation.

I was not prepared to discuss this with them, nor was I emotionally or physically prepared for the fallout. "Okay, wait—how do you _know_ , exactly? Like, how do you know their gonna die just because of vibration?" Gar questioned, bringing me back to the dialogue.

I exhaled through my nose, "Premonitions typically come to me in dreams and visions. I see it, I feel it. If I'm not careful I can get lost in them. Only Dick knows how to pull me back when I do—so I try very hard not to."

"That sounds dark. And isolating," Kory commented, voice sombered. Then, with a much lighter tone, she added, "I'd probably go crazy if I dreamed of people dying all the time."

"I almost did," I replied to her comment without thought, my mind controlling my mouth unconsciously. Just then, Dick exited the office, room keys visible in his hand. I perked up, inhaling, "Okay, kids, let's go."

Immediately, I pushed open my door and stepped out into the chill of the morning, for it was better than the vulnerability inside the Minivan. Even with Dick's jacket still on my shoulders, I was cold. My muscles were stiffened with it.

Rachel and Kory climbed out of the back seats, while Gar came from the driver's seat. Together we crossed the parking lot to the space in front of the office where Dick waited. He handed out room keys to Gar, Rachel, and Kory. "These rooms are next to each other," he told them.

Finally, he stopped as he made it down the line to me at the end. I smiled a closed-mouthed smile, narrowing one eye knowingly, "You didn't get me one, did you?"

"I figured we could share," he tilted his head in an expression, returning my closed-mouth smile.

Something soft swirled with something flirtatious in his eyes, piercing right through the cold chilling my body. It caused my eyes to brighten and the corner of my mouth to crawl upward at the insinuative nature of it all.

Typically I stayed awake all night, on a rooftop if possible. But planning to share a room told me he had other ideas in mind. "Smooth," Kory commented, pulling my eyes away to shift toward her. "When are we getting food? I'm starving."

"Rachel and I can go get pizza," I suggested, leaning around Kory enough to see Rachel on her other side. Rachel leaned forward as well, and she nodded at my proposal. I leaned back on my heels and looked to Dick.

He nodded, shrugging a little, "Alright. Just keep your eyes open."

* * *

There was a pizza joint not far from the motel. Rachel and I drove there in the Minivan, got enough pizza for all five of us, and drove back to the motel in less than an hour. Rachel knocked on the door to Dick and I's room while I held the boxes.

Gar answered the door and quickly ushered us inside. "Guys, pizza's here!" he exclaimed, hurrying further into the room as Rachel and I entered.

"It better not be all cheese," Kory commented, sitting on the end of the bed.

Rachel closed the door behind me and I walked the pizza's to the table by the window. "Don't worry, we got a variety," Rachel assured Kory. Gar was at my side in a heartbeat, digging into the first box he came to.

I chuckled as he picked up the box and swept it away for himself. He handed a piece to Rachel as she dropped onto the side of the bed nearest us. Under the first two boxes was the one I really wanted to get to—a special order.

My fingers gripped the box and I carried it across the room to where Dick stood, leaned against the wall by the tiny bathroom. He raised an eyebrow at me curiously as I approached. "Andouille and pineapple," I answered his silent question.

Instantly his lips broke into a small smile, huffing an airy chuckle as I came to stand just in front of him. He pushed off the wall to stand upright and I held the box out to him. "I love you," he told me, taking the box from my hands.

"I know you do," I smiled.

"Can you be cute _after_ we eat?" Rachel questioned, sitting on the bed with a slice in hand. "I really like this pizza and I don't want to throw it up."

I dropped into a chair at the table and raised an eyebrow at her, "I was wondering when you were going to start acting like a teenager."

She gave me a side-eye but chuckled before continuing to eat. "We, as of right now, are a group of people who share a common enemy," Dick spoke up, sliding his hands into his pockets as he turned to address all in the room.

Kory raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the wall, "Which makes us what?"

"Let's call it an alliance, one born of mutual need."

"And what is that?"

"To stay alive," Dick answered her, before looking to the rest of us. "We have no idea how long we have until they find us."

"You just said 'they'. Who are they?" Gar questioned, still holding a pizza box. Leaned down toward Rachel, he asked, "What do they want?"

Rachel replied, "We don't know who they are. But they want me."

"It's because of her...abilities," Dick added.

"They make violence look like an art form," Kory commented, thoughtfully.

Dick continued, "The people that attacked us fought in unison. They were perfectly coordinated—we're not. We can't fight like that unless we learn each other's moves."

I leaned forward in my seat, resting my forearms atop my knees. "Are you suggesting the five of us _train_ together? That's not exactly a good idea," I said, narrowing my eyes in an expression.

"We don't have any other choice," Dick shrugged. "None of us are prepared for another attack—well, except maybe for you. But we need to learn to work together."

It was not the smartest idea—what he was proposing. Rachel's darkness could kill someone, so could Gar's tiger form, and I still had yet to build up trust in Kory. Though, I could not argue with him. He was right. We'd run out of options.

With a singular nod, I pushed myself up from my chair. "Alright then. I suppose I'll be needing my duffel bag," I said, taking steps toward the door.

Before I passed him, Dick reached out and took hold of my upper arm, stopping me with a gentle grip. An eyebrow instinctively rose high on my forehead. "Are you sure you wanna do that?" he spoke quietly.

"Trust goes both ways, does it not? Time to put skin in the game."

A bit reluctantly, Dick released his hold on my arm. Though, it was easy to see he was displeased—but, above all else, he simply appeared concerned. I could not blame him for it.

Letting others see this side of our lives was the most daunting task we could ever face. It meant opening many doors, pulling back many curtains, and trusting that those let inside would not leave them open once they'd left.

I would not allow someone random into this part of my life. It was guarded too fiercely. But Rachel and Gar were not random. The idea of showing myself to Kory was daunting. Though, it created an opportunity for trust to be built.

If I showed her I meant business, maybe she would do the same? It was a long shot, but a shot I was going to take. So I'd gone out to the minivan and found my duffel bag in the trunk. I brought the bag back to the motel room.

When I reentered the space, it was as though everyone in it were awaiting something exciting. It was Christmas morning and I was Santa Claus. I carried the bag to the table, and Gar moved the pizza boxes to the other chair to allow for space.

I thanked him and dropped the bag atop the small table. "If we're going to work together to stay alive, you're going to see a part of me most people don't live to tell about," I spoke as I unzipped the bag, shoving my hands inside to find my hood.

"Sounds ominous," Kory commented, across the room.

My hands pushed sweaters and jeans out of the way, revealing a stark crimson at the bottom. To the right of the red was a black roll—my knife set. I pushed the bag back a bit on the table and then unrolled the black sheath in the new space.

Gar chuckled in surprise beside me, "Whoa...those look really sharp."

"That's because they are, Garfield. Give me your hand," I turned my head to see him, holding out my hand. He was hesitant, glancing quickly between my hand and my face. Unsure if he would like whatever I was about to do. But, ultimately, he complied. "Relax. Just feel this."

I placed one of the knifes flat on his open palm. My eyes remained on his face as his features contorted, gazing at the blade. "It's...heavy? Cold? What is it supposed to feel like?" he questioned, looking up from the knife.

"Imagine that this knife is vibrating. Not like a cell phone...quieter, softer. It's vibrating in your hand, getting stronger or softer depending on its position," I instructed, calmly. "And when you throw it...it decides where it goes based on the strength of the vibration."

"So it's like a compass," Gar concluded.

I nodded, "Yes. These knives are like a guide—but only in my hand."

Gar retracted his hand once I'd removed the knife, placing it back inside the sheath. "Hold on...you're saying the _knife_ tells you who to kill?" Kory questioned, disbelieving. My muscles paused at the sound of her words.

That reaction was natural and expected. Though, it gave me a wicked thought. My fingers slipped back around the knife I had previously sheathed and gave it a tug to pull it from its holder. "The vibrations indicate who is supposed to die," I answered. "If you're supposed to die...you will."

Once I'd spoke those words, I twisted on my heel, sending the silver blade across the room with a flick of my wrist. The knife sunk deep into the wall space to the right of Kory with a hollow thud. It caused all in the room to visibly startle.

Kory gasped, darting away from the knife stuck in the wall, and looked up at me with increasingly wide eyes. "I suppose it's not your time," I told her, with a small shrug of my shoulders.

"What the fuck?!" Kory shouted. "You could have killed me!"

Dick took a couple of quick steps in my direction, "Okay, enough show and tell. Put it away."

"No. The point is that you wouldn't have been hurt if you weren't supposed to be," I explained, ignoring Dick's words. "I don't control it. The vibrations do. Do you know what yours feel like, Kory?"

She stared back at me with still angered and concerned eyes, but remained silent as if to prod me along. So I inhaled sharply, and continued, "Yours are incredibly warm. If I focus too long on them, my fingers start to physically burn. Don't believe me? Look at them. The skin is pink."

I outstretched my open palms for her to see them. Her skeptical eyes scanned them a second. Then, after a moment, she took slow steps across the room toward me—still eyeing my fingertips. She stood directly in front of them, looking them over.

All in the room were silent. Finally, Kory spoke up, "Okay...anything else you wanna throw at me?"

She looked at me questioningly, with her head tilted—as though she were expecting the answer to be yes. "No," I shook my head, retracting my hands. "But I do have more to explain, regarding my past."

"Sweet! Story time," Gar dropped onto the bed next to Rachel.

Dick stepped up beside me, "Anna, don't you think you're telling them too much?"

"They deserve to know, don't you think?" I countered, looking up at him.

He eyed me seriously, and I stared back stubbornly. Finally, after a few seconds, he gave in and took a step back. Though, I could tell he was not at all supportive of my plan. Kory moseyed back to her spot against the wall while I began to speak.

Gar and Rachel were sitting up straight, their eyes aimed at me intently as they listened, eager to hear all I had to say. I inhaled sharply, and began, "You will undoubtedly hear many things about me. I need you all to know that most of it...is true."

There was no right way to start this story. This horrific timeline of ruination. So, I did my very best to give an account with as much detail as I knew they could handle.

"I was imprisoned in Arkham Asylum for the criminally insane for ten murders. They kept me in a box, with no contact from the outside or from the inside, and put poison in my veins that made me feel...heavy. After three years, I escaped," I spoke calmly, sitting at the table.

Gar, however hesitantly, eased a hand into the air. I gave a nod, and he asked, "Did you kill those people?"

Rachel's elbow shot into his side and she gave him a disapproving look. Gar, though, was not truly deterred. He only shrugged, rubbing his side. Sighing, I answered, "No. I killed ten others."

Only a year after my escape I began my crusade. Suspicions arose when middle aged males turned up dead all over Gotham in an unusual pattern. All were gruesome, bloody killings. One would wonder if it were a murderer or a butcher.

They were dark days, but I had never felt more in the right. I had been imprisoned for horrific crimes other men had committed. The blood of those killed unjustly cried out to me from the pavement of Gotham City, demanding justice. Demanding revenge.

That is what they all called me—in the headlines, in the ranks of the Gotham Police, and in the hearts of the wary civilian. _Vengeance_. As though I were the very embodiment of the word itself.

"I am wanted by the FBI, hence the drastic change of my appearance—the glasses, my hair from red to brown, and my name. Knowing this, if you don't wish to partner with me, I would sincerely understand. I might even commend you for having sense," I finished my story.

A thick hush had fallen over the entirety of the motel room—reasonably so. I did not look to them, chastening them to reply. Instead I sat quiet as well, simply waiting, allowing for an answer in either direction. Rachel was the first to speak.

She looked up from the carpeting, her features still drawn into thought, "So...you've done bad things. But they were all really bad people. That doesn't change anything."

"Yeah, but I have a question," Gar spoke up, holding up an index finger. "What are we supposed to call you then? Beverly or Savannah?"

"In private, you're free to call me Savannah. In any public setting, my name is Beverly," I answered.

Gar pointed at Dick, "He calls you 'Anna', like, all the time."

He'd presented quite a valid point. Tilting my head back on my shoulders, I shifted my eyes to look up at Dick. Dick glanced down at me a moment and sighed, before looking to Gar. "It's an old habit," he explained. "I'll call her Beverly, if necessary, just like everyone else."

Kory spoke up, in a characteristically uninterested tone of voice, "This seems a little too complicated for my taste."

"You're free to walk out at anytime," I shrugged lightly before standing up from my chair. "Anyone still interested in this endeavor—we're going to train."

* * *

Dick and I stood a handful of feet in front of the others—Rachel, Gar, and Kory. It hadn't surprised me when she said she would come. In fact, I expected it. I'd hoped for it. The main objective for this excursion was to find out just what each other was capable of.

We knew the vague details, but to work together you must know all of it. You must see it for yourself. That way, you can better anticipate how to match their technique and level of strength with your own. Abilities would either be equal or complimentary.

This training session will determine who fit into which category. "Alright. If we're gonna train together, we gotta see what each other can do," Dick said, his voice echoing off the walls of the large empty space. "Any volunteers?"

Gar's gaze ventured off to the left, his hands dug deep into his pockets as he slowly swayed on his heels, obviously uninterested in volunteering. Kory fidgeted with her rings, analyzing her hands—also uninterested.

I tilted my head with narrowed eyes in an expression, inhaling sharply, "How about you, Kory? Rachel said you create light?"

"Honestly, i'm still trying to figure it out," Kory shrugged a bit, shoving her hands into the pockets of her large fur coat. "I think it comes from the sun. I can absorb its power and...redirect it. I'm weaker at night, though. I'm sometimes empty—and it takes me a while to recharge."

"How long?" I inquired.

Kory exhaled, "A few hours, a day...i don't know."

"And you can control it?"

An eyebrow lifted on my forehead instinctively with my words, causing Kory's eyes to narrow at the edges as she focused on my face. Reading me, I knew. There was a shift I could feel in the nerves of my fingers.

A density, a tension that carved itself into my bones, letting in the sensation of a cold breeze. The feeling was familiar, but it felt so different simultaneously. Kory's shoulders squared as she lifted her chin, settling her features into a stiffly calm position, and replied, "Of course."

It was clear she'd taken it as an insult. An insight into how I perceived her. The insinuation that she could not control her abilities was visibly offensive. Though, her actions were so subtle I doubted many others would notice.

The chill settling into the open wounds in my bones sparked a kind of counter fire, an offensive to stop its spread. Instead my muscles felt warm, limber, and I found myself wanting to react. It was almost instant, chemical.

"Alright," I nodded once, before turning my body and taking a step aside. I held up a finger to aim at the idle tractor on the other end of the large space inside the barn. "Hit that tractor."

Kory tilted her head in a confident expression of spite, "Watch."

She walked past Dick and I to put space in between us and whatever she was about to do, coming to stand a couple of yards closer to the tractor. I folded my arms over my chest and turned to watch, exhaling as I did, an act to expel the unwanted density within me.

There was no need to make this outing a competition. There was nothing to compete for. Yet somehow this woman had managed to ignite a feeling inside me as though there was.

It was quiet for a second as Kory readied herself. Then she tilted back her head, her magenta corkscrew curls igniting at the roots, causing a shimmering array of orange shades to engulf all of them in vibrancy.

A sharp heat flared against my fingertips despite their comfortable positions beneath the cover of my arms. The suddenness of this caused my muscles to tense, jolting the entirety of my body, as my arms swiftly unfolded.

Kory's outstretched hands were the same vibrant shimmer as her hair, a moment before she thrusted her left hand forward. A ray of flaming reds, oranges, and yellows burst forward from her skin, burning a large hole in the hay at the back of the barn.

The stream of searing color ended and slowly my fingertips began to cool. Gar let out a sharp, shrieking giggle, "Sick!"

Kory turned on her purple, velvet heels and walked back toward her original position. "Hot damn," I commented, loosely wringing my hands. "Looks like we won't be needing a toaster ever again."

"I didn't hit the tractor," Kory pointed out, her tone unexcited as she stepped by me.

I shrugged, "Close enough."

Dick turned to face the others and, still wringing my hands, I did the same. Gar held up his hand as Kory approached, eagerly awaiting a high-five. She obliged, her hand slapping against Gar's as she past him, leaving behind a hissing sound.

Gar quickly retracted his hand, shaking away the sting from such a sudden touch of heat. "Your turn," Dick nodded to Gar with smile.

"Okay, I just, uh...give me a second," Gar replied, before darting past me and Dick.

He jogged a handful of feet away from us and again I turned to watch. Knowing just what Gar could do, I found myself waiting in anxious anticipation. It was almost as though something in me was excited to see it again.

Though, Gar did not seem as eager as before. He shook his arms and cracked his neck in preparation. But he did not do much else. "Any time today would be good," Dick said, in impatience.

"It's uh...I can't..." Gar turned halfway to see us all, glancing at each of us nervously. "It's a little weird with you guys watching and all."

I rolled my eyes in Dick's direction, a smirk curving its way into the lines of my face as I witnessed the expression of bewilderment on his features. "Everyone turn around," I spoke up, turning around myself in order to see the others.

Dick turned around hesitantly, shaking his head. "It'll be worth it, I promise," Gar assured, excitement finding its way back into his boyish voice.

"Heard that before," Kory commented, before turning around.

A collective chuckle resulted from her words. I refolded my arms over my chest as everyone was finally turned around. Gar's quick footsteps echoed off the walls, getting softer as they distanced, followed by the distinct sound of a zipper.

Dick sidestepped across the few feet between us to stand beside me. "What exactly are we waiting for?" he asked, voice hushed as he leaned in to speak.

"If this wasn't a drill we'd all be dead by now," Kory pointed out, impatiently.

I turned my head a little, a smirk ever-present, "You'll find out."

"That doesn't really answer my-"

His smug voice was drowned out by a sudden burst of sound. A loud, sharp roar straight from an animal's throat. Dick's whole body lurched upward like a startled feline as he immediately twisted to look over his shoulder for the source of the sound.

I barked a laugh, turning completely to see the rest of the barn. Kory released a chuckle of surprise and amazement behind me. "Oh, shit," Dick said, under his breath. His hand pulled me back a step with him as he shuffled away from the animal.

A muscular beast with green coloring leapt up onto the haystack Gar hid behind to transform. The tiger was certainly a majestic creature. "What do you know, it _was_ worth it," Kory laughed.

"Rachel," I spoke up, twisting to see her as a thought came to my mind.

Rachel smiled knowingly, before tossing a circular object my way. I caught it effortlessly—a medium sized ball I'd retrieved while out getting pizza. Only Rachel knew I had it. "Wait, no," Dick shook his head, eyes widened still. "Don't do that."

"Relax, Dick," I spoke calmly, giving him a reassuring expression. Then I turned and took steps forward, toward the haystack Gar's tiger form was perched upon, and whistled, "Hey! Come here."

There was a certain shimmer, a sparkle to the beast's eyes. It growled rather loudly as it descended quickly from the haystack, then began trotting toward me. I held up the ball, showing him where it was, then bounced it against the concrete.

Gar pounced forward, landing with his front legs bent and chest against the ground—his back end standing upright—and his tail slithered in the air behind him. Giggles from Rachel and amused laughter from Kory filled my ears as I tossed the ball.

It bounced to the left. The tiger darted after the small traveling object, roaring as it lunged for it. Gar retrieved the ball easily and trotted back to my position with it in his mouth. A soft, rumbling sound reminiscent of a purr whispered from him.

I knelt to take it back from his mouth but Gar darted away as my hands neared, causing me to stand with a soft chuckle. "Oh, I see how it is," I said, lunging for him. He backed away again, causing me to miss in my attempt. "You know you're not a house cat, right?"

Gar growled, baring his teeth around the ball by retracting his lips momentarily, and leapt away. He trotted for the haystack and I started after him, jogging. The tiger caught onto my plan and took a sharp turn to the left, causing me to quicken my pace to readjust.

Rachel's giggling grew to loud laughter. The joyful sound echoed off the walls, calling into my ears, and brought a warmth to the center of my chest.

The spirit of competition was not only between Kory and I—it was now between me and Gar. I bit my lower lip and sprinted after the green animal, causing Gar to move faster to avoid me, his animalistic sounds taking on a feeling of excitement.

At one point, I took a stance of parted legs, hunched forward in a position ready to move. And Gar mirrored me a few feet away, his tail twitching as he attempted to predict my next move. Finally, after chasing him for what felt like far too long, I managed to tackle him.

My arms wrapped tightly around his neck, the rest of my body loosely draped along the length of his back, and he growled as I reached for the ball in his mouth. "You're not a dog, Garfield," I huffed, gripping the rubber with my fingers. " _Drop it_."

"Don't put your hands in the fucking tiger's _mouth_!" Dick warned, voice elevated in concern. He sounded like an anxious mother watching her small son play soccer, trying to shout words of guidance from the sidelines.

Finally Gar released the ball, the rubber slick with his saliva, and it dropped into my hand. He shook his head after dropping it, then lowered his body to the floor in a plop against the concrete. I struggled to hold onto the ball.

But, once he held still, I was able to sit up with it securely in my hands. "Good boy," I used a patronizing tone purposely, reaching out a hand to pet the top of his head.

He growled lowly, resting his chin on the concrete to escape my hand, ears pinned. I slid off the tiger's back and stood upright, the wet ball in my hands. "Alright. Time to be a real boy," I told Gar, taking a step back.

Gar went through the transformation of beast to boy, complete with unnerving sounds of bone contortion. He stood to his full height, stark naked, and threw out his arms with a wide smile. "Ta-da!" he beamed at the others.

Immediately, I averted my eyes, turning my head. Kory erupted with a string of giggles across the room. "Gar!" Rachel said, pointedly.

"Oh, uh..." Gar only just remembered he was naked.

I shrugged off my jacket and held it out in his general direction, refraining from looking that way at all. "Here," I gestured with the jacket. "Cover up and go get your clothes."

Gar quickly snatched the jacket from my hand, "Thanks."

His feet slapping the concrete as he sprinted for his clothes behind the haystack echoed throughout the empty space, letting everyone know it was okay to look—however cautiously. Sighing, I walked back to my original position near the others.

Dick's expression was one of amazement, though he still appeared concerned. "You realize he could've bitten your hand off," he said, rhetorically, as I approached.

I nodded once, coming to stand beside him, "He could do a lot with those teeth if he wasn't so _vegan_."

Emphasizing the word vegan was important to point. Gar wouldn't eat one of my appendages regardless, but it caused Dick to finally understand my boldness. "He'd be a lot scarier if he wasn't green," Kory mused, as Gar approached.

"You know I _let_ you catch me, right?" Gar said, smugly, as he was about to walk by me.

He held out my jacket, and I took the garment from his hand. I was a bit reluctant to put it back on—thinking of where it had just been. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Green Bean," I replied.

Gar laughed at the name, returning to his previous spot. Dick turned to face the others and, once again, I followed suit. "Okay. So we have Sun Woman and Tiger Boy," he said, glancing at Kory and Gar. "There's definitely potential here."

My features wrinkled at the names, but I didn't bother commenting. "Rachel, you're next," Gar said, smiling at Rachel. Rachel's face immediately dropped, and she shook her head quickly.

"No. No, I could hurt someone," she protested, a bit anxiously.

Kory commented, "Hurting people is kind of the idea here."

It had occurred to me when we arrived that I had nothing to show for my abilities. Dick literally had nothing to show other than a fancy vigilante suit. But all the things I could do were internal. There was nothing visible.

But, when Rachel's anxiety began to warm my chest, I had a thought. It brought me back to Hank and Dawn's apartment, both inside and on the roof. I had done something physically after all. Though I was unsure if I could recreate it, I could still try.

So I took a deep breath and spoke up, "Let's do it together. Remember what I did, back in D.C.? You might be able to help me figure out how to do it again."

Rachel looked at me with surprise in her eyes. Dick put a hand on my shoulder then, bringing my eyes to the right to meet his questioningly. "Are you sure you wanna know?" he asked, quietly. "Once you let it out, you might not be able to put it back in the box."

"I need to know—preferably before I throw you into another wall."

"Wait, what?" Gar perked up, intrigued but concerned.

"Rachel?" I turned to look at Rachel, eyebrows risen expectantly. She eyed me in indecision for a quiet moment. Then, quite hesitantly, she nodded a little. I returned her nod, "Let's do this."

Rachel walked with me to a spot a handful of feet from the others. The last time Rachel had gone completely dark, I could not get within three feet of her without being in excruciating pain. Now, however, would be a dialed down version.

I turned to see the others once we'd found a suitable spot. "I'm going to need a valiant volunteer whose name is not Richard," I said, gaze shifting between Gar and Kory. Dick huffed a chuckle, shaking his head at my statement.

Gar and Kory glanced between each other, passing a silent question, before Gar nervously stepped forward. "Uh...I'll do it, I guess," he said. He walked to our position and I directed him to stand three yards from the haystack.

It was an equation simplified by sheer memory. But, given what I knew happened on the rooftop, I assumed three yards just might be too short of a space. Though, it would work for this experiment. "So, what do you want me to do?" Rachel asked me, curious.

Inhaling sharply, I answered, "I might need a boost. If I can't do it on my own, take my hand and get angry. Alright?"

"Okay," she nodded.

"Uh...Savannah? What exactly are you gonna do?" Gar questioned anxiously, from where he stood in front of the haystack. "I mean, like, is this going to hurt, or…?"

Instinctively, I turned to see Dick for the answer. He was the only one present whom had felt what I was about to inflict. But Dick shrugged, shaking his head, "Don't look at me—I only know it hurt because my back hit a wall. I have no idea if it hurts as is."

Sighing, I turned back to Gar, "We don't know. But you have a soft landing, so you'll be fine."

Gar was not at all put at ease by this discussion. It was visible on every inch of his being. But that did not stop the necessity of a sacrificial volunteer. Inhaling a deep breath through my nostrils, releasing it through my lips, I searched for a singular set of vibrations.

I'd closed my eyes to shut out all the rest. Rachel was the strongest presence in the whole of the building. When I pushed that warmth to the back of my mind, a pulsating breeze of warmth of vibration took its place, and I knew—it was Gar.

No one else in the area was anxious, so that helped me to distinguish him amongst the sea of heat. "Gar? Take a deep breath, please. You're fine," I spoke up, though keeping my eyes closed in focus.

My fingertips absentmindedly moved in random shifts with the motion of Gar rocking on his heels. "I'm trying, alright?" he defended, nervously. "But you're not giving me much to go off of here."

The thought came to me that like Dick's anger, I might be able to use Gar's anxiety to direct my energy. So I further focused on the bundle of nerves that was Gar, and lifted my hand to hold up, palm out in an effort to shift the control from my mind to my hand.

It seemed my body was understanding what I wanted to some extent—pressure building between my eyes, but not strong enough to do anything at all. Though, the second I held up my hand, I could feel the anxiety dancing inside my fingertips.

Pricks of numbness and electricity competed inside my skin, crawling deep into my hand and upward throughout the muscles of my arm. "I could try pissing you off again," Dick offered, half-heartedly.

Kory asked, obviously not talking to me, "She has to be angry for this to work?"

"Well, the only times it's happened were when she was angry."

"Is it possible it's simply a defense mechanism? It could be triggered by a perceived threat."

"I suppose. Really anything's possible-"

" _Quiet_!" I shouted the single word, my voice echoing sharply. Gar's startle was felt in the tissue of my fingers. But that was not all. My sudden burst of frustration granted me a sense of clarity.

The vibrations I felt from Gar were sharpened, brought into focus. But the most noticeable change was a warm electricity centered in my right arm. With an involuntary twitch of my finger, Gar's eyes widened, before his head snapped forward to look down.

His foot had shifted outward. I could not get excited or tell myself any encouragement—i could only remain focused on the task at hand until it was finished. "Uh..." Gar looked up from his moved shoe. "Was that supposed to happen?"

There was no specific plan. This was lead purely by instinct. "Just stay calm," I reminded. Slowly, I retracted my hand by a few inches. With this action Gar took shuffling steps forward.

One foot after the other, lifted and placed shakily, almost not leaving the ground at all. It caused a jerking motion, almost knocking him over. But he held his balance despite the unnerved look of panic on his face.

"Whoa," Rachel watched with round eyes. "You're making him do that?"

"Just be careful, okay?" Dick spoke up from behind us.

Gar let out a string of nervous yet excited laughter, "This is awesome! I feel like a puppet! Can you make me touch my toes?"

I almost— _almost_ —shook my head at his behavior. He was enjoying it. Something about the change in emotions, the stark triumph of excitement over anxiety, put a bubble of anger in my gut. It wasn't what I wanted to feel.

It was not at all what I wanted to feel. And yet, it was all I _could_ feel. When the bubble popped, my hand shot forward, and a pulse of sharp electricity burst from my palm. Gar was thrust backward, his feet coming off the ground.

The boy's back hit the haystack with a shout of shock and fear, and suddenly it all stopped. I could no longer feel his vibrations in my veins. My hand retracted in a lurch, waves of surprise and worry filling my body from Rachel at my side.

Gar was groaning, rolling himself over in the hay. "Gar? Are you okay?" Rachel called to him. He was quiet a second. The silence replaced my anger with concern. But then he barked a laugh, quickly followed by another groan.

"I'm okay! Just one question...am I on fire? It feels like i'm on fire."


	9. Freak Show

_**MY BODY SUNK INTO THE MATTRESS**_ of the motel bed. It was not the most comfortable of mattresses but it was not anything I couldn't handle. Gar was stretched out on his back a handful of inches to my left, his head at the opposite end of the bed.

I was not sure exactly how his head ended up at the foot of the bed. He played with his handheld video game, the device making quiet soft sound effects as he pressed different buttons. "Does it still hurt?" I inquired, breaking the conversational silence.

He gave a shake of his head. "Nah. I'm all good," Gar sat up suddenly, turning off his game as he dropped it into his lap. "Are _you_ good?"

My brows knitted, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well...you seemed a little agitated back there. And with what you said about what you can do, I thought, maybe...I don't know."

"You obviously thought something."

Gar sighed lightly, speaking hesitantly, "I thought it looked like you might be having some trouble with the dark side, if you know what I mean."

I understood his line of thinking. With what I was feeling, I could imagine it did indeed look like I was having trouble with my dark side. Because I was. "This is simply new territory," I reasoned, calmly.

"Right, right, yeah..."

He bobbed his head, nodding as he looked down at the gaming device in his lap. The curiosity was practically eating him alive—an ironic statement for someone who could literally eat someone alive. I tilted my head against the pillow, eyeing him.

A cool touch was carried in with the vibrations radiating off him. It was not hard to tell just what he wanted to know. I inhaled sharply, "I can feel your unrest, Garfield. Ask me and you'll get answers."

Gar lifted his head, a bit surprised by my words. But he was quick, though hesitant, to ask his first question. "What do I feel like?" he questioned. Then, he was quick to clarify, "I mean, my vibrations."

"Warm, like every living thing. But...you want to know what the _beast_ feels like. Correct?"

The notion caused him to look down again, as though the idea was somehow embarrassing. Gar was not the first person to ask me to describe in detail how they felt to me, but he was the most reluctant—a trait I didn't know him to possess.

The boy gave a small, closed-mouth smile and nodded, his eyes shifting back up to meet mine. I pushed myself up into a sitting position then, bringing me closer to his spot on the bed. "Give me your hand," I instructed, holding out an open palm.

Gar placed his hand on top of mine, the flat palms touching in the very center, "I'm about to get my palm read, aren't I?"

"Well, not exactly," I smiled a little at his words. "I'm going to reach deep and tell you what I feel. If I _see_ anything, I won't be at liberty to discuss it with you. Alright?"

"Okay," he nodded in agreement.

So I continued. With a deep exhale through my nostrils, I loosened my shoulders and let my eyes close calmly. There was a certain freedom in being able to feel. To let yourself feel whatever comes without hesitation or push back.

As the emotions and sensations came, I did my best to describe them aloud. It was not an exact science. Most things I felt on a daily basis were indescribable. But, for Gar, I tried my best to do so.

"There's an energy...it feels like electricity—or, how one would expect it to feel. It feels warm, and powerful, but it's also cold. I can't say that's unusual. It vibrates differently, though. Almost like it's on its side. The vibrations are sideways, they feel...obscure."

Gar slowly asked, "Is that a _bad_ thing?"

"Not necessarily," I shook my head, eyes remaining shut. "It simply means it's different."

"Can you feel your own vibrations?"

"No."

"Did you feel anything when I was a tiger?"

"No."

"Then how come you can feel something right now, but not when i'm _actually_ a tiger?"

Sighing, I opened my eyes, blinking once or twice to readjust to the lighting. "I'm not sure, Gar. I know some about these abilities, but certainly not everything," I answered, calmly. "Maybe we can find out why? Tomorrow, we'll test it."

"Cool," he bobbed his head, a smile pulling up the right corner of his mouth. A sudden knock on the door echoed inside the motel room. We'd turned our heads to look at the door almost simultaneously. Gar spoke up to be heard, saying, "It's unlocked."

The door was opened a moment after he said those words. It swung open, revealing Dick, whom stood just outside. His eyebrows drew together, expression perplexed, as we became visible to him.

It had come to mind, the thought that this positioning might look disconcerting. But it only lasted for a second. Certainly not long enough to make a lasting impression. Gar quickly retracted his hand from mine as Dick walked into the room.

An eyebrow instinctively lifted on my forehead, seeing his suddenly nervous demeanor. "Calm down, please," I told him, quietly. Gar moved his eyes back to mine, and gave an apologetic nod.

"What's goin' on, guys?" Dick asked, visibly confused by the odd behavior.

I exhaled, "Gar wanted to know what his vibrations felt like."

"Ah," Dick understood then—at least, understood the majority of questions brought up by this. He looked to Gar, whom returned his glance, "Trust me—it's not as cool as it sounds."

"Asshole," I scoffed, slapping my knuckles against Dick's left arm.

The act of mild violence only caused Dick to let out a quiet chuckle, grinning as he sidestepped to escape my reach. Gar shrugged, " _I_ think it's pretty cool."

"Because _you're_ not an asshole," I told him, bringing his lips into a humored smile.

"Alright. Well, the asshole needs to talk to his girlfriend," Dick spoke sarcastically. He looked to Gar, "Can you wait to have your other palm read?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Gar nodded quickly.

My eyes shifted calmly between the two males—though, something was obviously similar. Something was shared between them with an almost matching glance, before Dick pulled his eyes from Gar to look at me, tipping his head toward the door in a gesture.

It was suspicious. It was curious. Yet I did not question it. I didn't see why I would need to. Just as Gar and I have private discussions, so do Gar and Dick. The suspicious behavior rolled off my back as I slid off the bed to stand.

Dick lead the way to the door, pulling it open and holding it while I walked through into the hallway. As he closed it behind us, he turned to me and said something I hadn't expected, "I know about Victor."

I dropped my shoulders, loosening them. "How exactly did you find out?" I questioned, as I folded my arms over my chest. Dick, after glancing the other way down the empty hall, put his hand at my shoulder blade to guide me along as he started walking.

My feet moved, allowing me to walk with him, but only for the sake of hearing his answer. "Plugged in your phone. He's left you half a dozen messages," he explained, a speck of concern to his calm tone.

"He's keeping me updated on the situation in Gotham," I sighed, unfolding my arms. "Daddy dearest has been released from prison on good behavior—that, and no one thought he was guilty to start."

Dick turned his head to look at me with a perplexed expression as we reached our room, "What? He was on death row—his execution was scheduled for next year."

"And yet, here we are. It reeks of corruption but i'm not surprised. I knew he would find a way to get out no matter where we put him—which is why I insisted he not live longer than twenty-thirteen."

"Anna, we both know killing him wasn't our only option," he gave me a disapproving look, unlocking the door and pushing it open as he spoke.

Dick gestured to the open doorway with his hand and I walked into the room while replying. "Did you not hear what I said?" I questioned, rhetorically. "Obviously—if not the only—it was the _best_ option."

The sound of the door closing mixed with the sound of Dick's voice. "Yes, because killing your own father really would solve all your problems," he quipped, dryly. I all but rolled my eyes. Though, I did not have the chance to respond.

As I stepped into the bedroom area of the room, out of the small hallway in front of the door, I caught sight of something that slowed me. A small, velvety looking box sat on the bedspread—on the side of the bed closest me—a few inches from the edge.

My steps came to a sudden standstill two feet from the bed. Dick walked into my peripheral vision, moving past my left to put the room key on the vanity across from the end of the bed. He seemed unaware of my reaction.

I glanced from the box, to Dick, and back just once. My heart was already sped up in my chest. But there was nothing I could do just standing there. Curiosity was killing me almost as much as my preconceived idea of the box's contents.

So I took two steps forward and plucked the box from the bed in an effort to rip off the band aide either way. "What's in the box?" I questioned, keeping my tone playful in order to hide my inward panic.

"Open it."

My eyes shifted from the box to Dick as he leaned back into the vanity, palms against the edges of the wood on either side of him. His features were pulled into a lighthearted and soft expression, while simultaneously his bright smile reached his irises.

There were many options for content. So many I couldn't possibly get it right. Though, if his expression was at all telling, it was not an anniversary present. My lips drew into a thin line as my fingers moved to open the box.

As the lid was pushed up, more and more was revealed, until finally I could see all. Inside the small box was a rose gold band with a single ruby attached to its top, perched in black satin. Despite trying to prepare myself for this outcome, I inhaled sharply at the sight of it.

Something in my chest sunk, and my eyes immediately searched for Dick's. "Is this..." my words trailed, unable to finish the first question. Instead, I settled on, "Dick, what are you doing?"

"We've known each other for almost half our lives. And from that first time I met you, I knew...I knew I was going to love you, that I was going to _need_ you. After everything we've been through, we're still here—and I choose to believe that's for a reason," he said, his words spoken calmly.

Dick pushed off the vanity to stand upright, as he took steps toward me. It had still not quite sunk in, the severity of the situation, but to some capacity it had. I was in a state of shock—unable to do anything but stare at him as he approached me.

He came to stand just in front of me beside the bed and carefully took the velvet box from my hands. "I know this is a weird time, but the last few days have just confirmed what I've been thinking for a long time," Dick lowered himself to one knee before me, holding the box. "Anna...will you marry me?"

My drastically rounded eyes were stuck on his, thoughts running through my mind in a whirlwind. It felt like I couldn't breathe, yet I was breathing too fast at the same time—creating an almost nauseating lightheadedness.

I opened my mouth to speak and no sound followed the action, not for a moment. Nodding my head quickly drew a line of warm water down my cheek, the corners of my mouth bursting up in a bittersweet smile, as finally my answer came. "Yes," I said, through an airy chuckle. "Yes, I will."

A warm light filled Dick's eyes, pouring out its brightness onto the rest of his features as he, too, smiled up at me. I held out my left hand as he took the ring out of the box. Then he slid it onto my ring finger.

Never was I one to wear much jewelry. But I reasoned I could make an exception for something of this importance. For something that meant so much. It seemed unreal. The rose gold band fit around my finger perfectly—not too tight, not too loose.

It made me travel back through my thoughts, wondering just when Dick had found out my ring size. Even I didn't know that information. There was much I didn't remember after Arkham, that being one of them.

Once the ring was secure, Dick stood from his spot on the floor, and I surged forward. My arms were thrown around his neck, chests colliding as I rose on my toes to press my lips against his.

* * *

 **TYRINGHAM, MASSACHUSETTS  
13 YEARS AGO**

It was New Year's. Every holiday was spent at the cottage, and New Year's was no exception. There was a strict family only policy when it came to these kinds of vacations. Only Daddy's inner circle of business partners fit the criteria. Of course, he'd fit in whomever he pleased when it suited him.

Outside, the rain poured. I knew because I sat it in on my bedroom balcony's concrete railing. The thick slab offered a perfect perch to enjoy the winter storming.

Droplets of water pelted the exposed skin of my arms, erupting them in sharp bumps with the chill of the evening. It was electrifying, the sensation of becoming soaked to the bone from an unexpected rain storm. There was so much energy. Yet it was the most peaceful experience.

I sat up on the railing with my eyes closed, head tilted back to feel the water pouring down on my skin. My clothes were completely soaked. Water dripped off my arms. It rolled down my legs and leapt from my toes.

"Savannah? What are you doing out there? The ball's about to drop!"

The voice I'd heard calling to me from behind was unmistakable. I righted myself on the railing and twisted in my seat to see the balcony door. My fingers had to rake across my eyes to clear the water from them in order to open them.

Standing just inside my bedroom was Dick Grayson, wearing a dress shirt and slacks—formal attire to put on a show for Daddy's company partners. He was only allowed to come on this trip thanks to Bruce Wayne, one of the most important partners of my father's company.

He stood under cover, squinting to see me through the sheet of rain and shouting to be heard. I couldn't help but smile. "Come sit with me!" I shouted, motioning with my hand.

"No way, Anna!"

"What's wrong, Dick? Afraid of getting a little _wet_?"

My teeth pinched my lower lip before tugging it into my mouth. The split second sight of the expression it brought to his face was enough to brighten my eyes as I turned away from him.

It wasn't something special. I did it to every male. Why was beyond me. But I'd had a habit of making everything an opportunity to flirt. It hadn't gone wrong for me just yet, so I hadn't been able to give it up. I supposed it was just who I was.

That wildflower everyone secretly wanted to be but outwardly despised. With outstretched arms, I tipped my head back and exhaled a deep breath. "You're crazy, Savannah Syren!"

I would take crazy if it meant feeling alive any day. The words brought a small giggle up my throat. I could just picture the look of indecisiveness on his face. I'd always teased him about being a no-fun fuddy duddy at the ripe age of sixteen.

To which I was always accused of being too much. But I didn't mind. Getting a rise out of him was worth it. In a matter of heartbeats after he'd spoken, a pair of arms wrapped around my middle from behind and gave me a hard pull.

I'd squealed from surprise, the squeak of a sound being followed by a string of laughs as Dick carried me toward the bedroom door. "Wait, wait!" I shouted a little to be heard over the thunderous rain. "Just one more minute!"

"You've been out here for an hour!"

Putting my feet down caused him to stop walking, allowing me to pull out of his hold and stand on my own. I turned to face him as I pushed my soaked hair out of my view. "You've got to start living a little, Grayson! Before you die an old man who never did anything interesting!" I told him.

It was hard to gauge his expression in the thick water running across his face, but it was easy to pick out the hint of playful annoyance. "This is the most interesting thing you can think of?" he questioned, rhetorically.

"No! This is just the most interesting thing at the moment!"

He shook his head slowly at me, "Your dad's gonna kill you when he finds out you did this in your new dress!"

" _Good_!" I shouted, before leaning toward him with a barked laugh. I threw my arms out at my sides and spun on my bare feet. Flinging my head back to get the full effect of twirling in the rain.

The sound of his laugh echoed off the side of the cottage, warm enough in my ears to eradicate the notion of being too cold from my mind. It mixed with the distant voices of the television from the sitting room, blasting a broadcast of the ball drop in Times Square.

Sighing in contentment, I stopped my spinning to face Dick, a bright smile on both our faces. "You're so beautiful," he said, just loud enough for me to hear.

I didn't know how to take that compliment. Usually they rolled right off my back, not unlike the rain that poured atop my head in that moment. But it was the way his eyes lit up when he looked at me. How his lips remained parted after he said the words.

It was a sight I'd wanted to take a picture of and keep safely tucked away forever in the back of my mind. Though, I did no such thing. I marched forward without warning and pushed myself up to the full height of my toes, grabbing his face as I pressed my lips against his.

The kiss was rain soaked and unplanned. But it was magic. I felt the walls of my chest cavity grow warm as he kissed me back. His arms encircled me, tucking me tightly against his chest. The taste of the rain mixed with the taste of his tongue.

I'd never been so assertive. Not in this context. I was eternally grateful for that little spark of courage, though. Because it was one of the best nights of my life. That is, until we got caught.

"What do you two think you're doing out there?"

Our mouths had broken their connection but Dick's arms refused to move as we'd both startled from the voice shouted at us. Turning my head a fraction of an inch, I could see the voice belonged to none other than Bruce Wayne.

I couldn't help the heat in my cheeks, but I was quick to suppress it as I peeled myself away from Dick. The two of us shuffled quickly back inside the cottage, out of the rain, equally embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Bruce, she wouldn't come inside," Dick apologized, once we'd gotten in.

"I'm sorry you both missed the ball drop—but something tells me you improvised," Bruce commented, the very ghost of a smile playing at the left corner of his mouth.

Dick and I shared a quick glance, and I fought a smile, folding my top lip over the bottom one in order to clamp it down. "Why don't the two of you get dried off and then join us downstairs?" Bruce suggested. Then, specifically to Dick, he added, "There are more towels in the guest room."

It was a subtle hint that we weren't going to be getting dry alone in the same room together. I assumed it would've been obvious. But, from a parent's perspective, it made sense to enforce it. Even though Bruce wasn't Dick's father, I admired him for those moments he truly acted like he was.

Dick nodded, getting the hint, and pattered out of the bedroom into the hallway. Bruce was soon to follow, departing to give me privacy to do whatever I needed in my attempt to get dried off.

* * *

 **SOMEWHERE IN OHIO  
NOW**

The pad of my index finger softly traced the puckered line down the front of Dick's shoulder, feeling the graveled texture of the skin as I lost myself in thought. I was not there when he acquired such a scar. But I was there after.

Even still, I vividly remember when he'd come to my balcony in the late hours of the night. I'd been asleep until I felt him climb into my bed. The following morning, he explained to me just how he'd earned the wound, and how many stitches it required.

I was not at all impressed. There was too much to be concerned with. Now, my fingertip brushed over the smaller scar—one only a white line of flesh—just below and to the right of the previous one.

"Do you remember when I found you by my bed, sitting on the floor?" I spoke quietly, softly at the memory. "You'd just been shot, yet you apologized for not calling ahead."

A small laugh escaped me from the ridiculousness of those last words. Dick smiled a little, his chest rising and falling beneath me as he huffed an airy chuckle. "I tried to hide the bandage from you but you sniffed it out like a blood hound," he recalled.

"I was so mad at you."

"But you let me stay anyway."

"Only because I was madly in love with you—and you'd just been _shot_."

Dick bent his neck to look down at me, a soft smile on his lips, "Was?"

I knew he was being humorous. He was playing me, trying to get me to say something equally playful yet heartfelt. My head tilted, resting against my knuckles as I propped myself up on my elbow. I'd reached out my other hand to touch his face.

The skin of my fingers ghosting the curve of his jaw, coming to his chin, my thumb extending to dance over his lower lip. Dick's eyes remained on mine the entire time. Watching me intently as I touched him, curious of the end result.

"You know what you said to me back then? 'You always have me—no matter where I am.'," my voice was a whisper, the left corner of my lips upturned in a small smile. "I don't think either of us realized quite what it meant."

"It's still true," Dick whispered in reply, features softened beyond compare.

Lifting my head off my hand, I nodded a little, "I know."

In a slow but smooth movement, he reached up a hand to touch the back of my neck, fingers sliding up through my tussled hair as he leaned in. Our noses touched and a gentle chill caused my body to shudder, eyelids fluttering comfortably closed.

The moment his lips brushed against mine was felt deep in the tissue. It was an addictive pulse beat that I chased after, desperate to feel more.

A sudden intrusion of dry heat in the center of my chest pulled my mind away from my current activities, instead bringing the thought of four unique individuals to the forefront of my consciousness. It was unexpected and untimely.

But that wasn't what yanked my body backward, immediately pushing myself up to sit at attention facing the door. "Hey, whoa- Anna? What's wrong?" Dick quickly questioned, concerned. He was right to be worried. Incredibly right.

"They're here—those assholes from D.C., they found us," I answered, getting up from the bed. "We've got _maybe_ five minutes before they become a problem."

Dick was up—rolling to the other side of the bed to get to his feet—and had most of his clothes on before I'd taken two steps from the bedside. I didn't bother putting on my civilian clothes. This task would require something more durable.

So I dug into my duffel until I found the crimson at the bottom. As swiftly as I could, I pulled on the leather pants, boots, and matching corset. Then I secured the knife sheath around my waist and the red hood around my shoulders.

I'd just gotten it on when Dick opened the room door in order to check the hallway, to see if they'd gotten this close yet. When in fact they already had.

My eyes were focused on other things, so I did not see the exact cause of Dick's bought of flight, but a thud followed by a loud groan caught my attention. I'd turned my head just in time to see Dick flying backward several feet into the room.

He hit the carpeting and was immediately up on his elbows to crawl further back. The woman of the four walked into the motel room, accompanied by a new man—most likely a replacement of the one Kory previously burned.

This man looked just as ugly and smug as the last. He held a large hammer and the woman a battery powered trimmer. "Well, this is certainly a surprise," the woman said, eyeing me with a wicked smile.

Her man agreed, "Yes. Definitely unexpected."

There was something so incredibly wrong about their words, voices, and interactions. They were mechanical and unemotional. My hands dove beneath the folds of my hood, to the sheath at my back, and gripped a pair of knives.

As I pulled them out into the light, Dick got to his feet, and the woman started her trimmer and charged. Dick dove to the left, and I spun right. The blade of my knife caught in the groove of the woman's power tool and held it still.

The tool whirred and buzzed in protest, but it was locked as the woman and I offered equal strength from both sides. Finally her side released and she stumbled back one step. She swung the tool and I bent back to miss it.

Once again I twisted and came from the side, carving a silver blade along the length of her upper arm as my body now stood behind her. She reacted as though her body was in fact hindered. But her mind was not at all effected.

The woman only straightened and whirled to face me, swinging the power tool, and I took quick steps back to miss it. My body touched the wall in between the hall and the bathroom doorway, but the woman still rapidly approached.

So I let my feet slide from beneath me, dropping my body to the floor, and I lurched into a roll toward the bed. Dick was using his Robin suit's case to deflect the wild swings of the man's hammer on the other side of the bed, in front of the window.

The woman's power tool sawed rapidly a line into the side of the bedspread, aiming for me but missing only when I dodged to the left. With my dodge I thrusted the knife I held in my right hand deep into the meat of her left foot.

I rolled out from beside the bed, lurching to my feet easily. "Anna! Find Rachel!" Dick hollered, swinging his case left and right. "Go, I got this!"

Yes, I believed he could very well have it under control if I left him to handle it alone. But that did not stop my immediate reluctance to go along with the new plan. The woman was staggered with the knife still in her foot.

She reached down a hand and gave it a hard pull, yanking the blade from her flesh easily. In all my years of killing murderers, i'd never seen something so morbidly grotesque.

It was my only chance to leave the room if I were actually going to. So, after one last glance at Dick's situation, I sprinted to the right and bolted through the open door to the motel room. This was not the time for his death, that much I knew.

That knowledge wasn't much comfort but it was enough to keep me running through the hallway toward Rachel, Gar, and Kory's rooms. When I drifted around the final and only corner, my eyes settled on Kory further down the hall.

She stood with her back to the bodies of the young boy and girl of this horrific group. Though, they were not down and out. Both of them were getting to their feet and Kory seemingly did not notice.

I kept running, this time with a plan formulating in my mind. Deciding how to fight was like deciding how to dance. I'd had plenty of practice in making both decisions over the course of my life. As I approached, I calculated the distance in my head.

Then I leapt up and pushed off the wall, spring-boarding myself up and to the left, in the right angle to slam my fist right into the girl's head. She made a muffled sound as she hit the hall's carpeted flooring. My descent brought my feet to the ground in an angle that caused my back to hit the wall after a quick turn.

As my back hit the wall, I immediately slid down several inches to miss getting hit in the face with the boy's bat. Kory had noticed what was going on the second i'd hit the girl. But she didn't jump into the fight—instead, simply observed.

The boy's bat was lodged into the wall in a crater. "This is for Hank, you little shit!" I hissed, surging to my feet. My fingers wrapped around the end of the bat and gave it a strong pull, yanking it from the wall. The handle end of the bat went straight back into the forehead of the boy.

It was a hard enough hit to send him stumbling backward a few steps. With a twist of my wrist i'd turned the bat to hold its handle. The second I did, I did not hesitate to give it a good swing, sending the larger end into the side of the boy's head.

He dropped to the floor with a hollow thud, only blood left behind on the bat to show for the contact. "Damn. That was pretty good," Kory nodded once in approval as I turned my head to look at her. "Rachel and Gar are outside. Come on."

I'd taken a quick glance over my shoulder before following her down the stairs at the end of the hall, not far from where we'd been standing. There had been no feeling of death. Yet it still worried me that Dick was taking on the adults alone.

Getting to Rachel was the most important thing, I told myself. So I tried to keep myself focused on that. Kory and I jogged out of the building and into the parking lot, toward Rachel and Gar where they stood on the other side of a small car.

They both looked alarmed and concerned. "Where's Dick?" Rachel questioned, as we quickly approached. Kory looked to me for the answer. Though, there wasn't much of one to be given.

"I don't know," I shook my head, gesturing with my hands.

Kory and I joined Rachel and Gar. Movement caught my attention through my peripheral view of the building, causing me to turn my head just as the woman and man from the motel room were walking toward the car just feet from us.

My hands found themselves each a knife in a quick, smooth motion under the folds of my hood. Kory put out her arm, guiding Rachel and Gar to stand behind her, before getting into a readied position. "Time to burn, assholes," she said, outstretching her arms.

She tilted her head back and the magenta curls on her head coiled with vibrancy. But it only spread into her hands for a moment before fizzling out. Kory let out a frustrated sound, "Fucking _night_!"

It had only briefly occurred to me that nightfall might cause a problem for us in this situation. I was too busy focusing on the enemy, working out scenarios of escape in my mind to truly think about it. Kory charged forward at the man.

He reached behind him and pulled the side door from the car next to him and, as he turned, hit Kory with the metal. She bounced back through the air, landing against the side of the car at our backs before dropping to the pavement.

My fingers tightened around the knife handles, seconds before a familiar jolt was sent through the length of my spine. Dick was close. I felt it seconds before gas canisters spewed a thick fog, rolling in from behind the car behind the man and woman's back.

There was a dense whistle, quickly followed by the man being thrust backward, pulled to a space behind the car somewhere. Dick, dressed fully as Robin, slid over the top of the car and landed just beside it within the thinning smoke.

A small smirk corkscrewed my lips at the sight. Letting those around you into this part of our lives was an impossibly difficult feat. Even though it was due to emergency purposes, I was proud of Dick for taking that step.

The boy and the girl had come from the motel, positioned just behind and to the right of me. I shifted my gaze to where Dick stood and he looked in my direction. A small, shared nod was the signal to get moving. And we both did.

Dick spun his staff and moved for the woman. I turned and slashed at the girl—whom had been closest to me. Gar, with a determined expression, turned and bolted down the row of parking spaces. The girl tried using her wire lasso.

With a flick of her wrist she sent the grappling hook head at me, the wire wrapping around my left forearm. She smile triumphantly before giving a pull. I spun rapidly, giving me all the tension in the wire, and hiked up my leg once I faced her again.

The heel of my boot was sent into her middle and she was thrust backward a few feet. It also ripped the wire completely from her hands. Seconds after she'd hit the ground, her male counterpart wound back his bat to take a swing.

A sharp roar sounded close by, stopping the boy mid-swing from sheer surprise. He looked over his shoulder a second before he was ripped away by Gar, in his tiger form, whom was standing atop the car nearby. The boy was flung into the air with a shout.

After the boy was no longer a threat, I turned to see Gar and gave a nod. He growled loudly in response. The man was on the pavement, unconscious, and Kory had just pulled herself off the pavement to join the rest of us.

All five of us stood there in front of the woman, the last person standing, and she dropped her power tool in defeat. "Well..." she said, glancing over us nervously. "Look at the mess we've made."

Furious fire in my veins, I marched forward, "It's about to get messier."

"Savannah, no!" Dick tried to stop me.

Though, I did not do what either of us expected. Instead of using the sharp end of my knife, I used the handle to render her unconscious—slamming it into her right temple. "Bitch," I growled under my breath, as her body hit the pavement.

I could feel the breath of relief from Dick even a handful of yards away from him. But I would not have regretted killing her. Physically, I was incapable of feeling remorse for those justly killed. It was something I learned after so many years of not experiencing guilt.

At least, none for the murderers. I turned around to face the others and Dick gave me a cautionary expression. "What?" I questioned, a bit harshly. "I wasn't going to kill her."

"Yes, you were," Rachel spoke up, tilting her head.

Sighing, I shrugged, "Well, I didn't."

Dick was walking toward me, nearing my position in his path to move past me to the woman's body. He gave nod as he passed, his hand pressing a brief squeeze to my shoulder. "Progress," he commented, dryly sarcastic.

I rolled my eyes at that. The plan moving forward was to tie up the four assailants, the young and adult pairs in separate rooms, and question them. They were all unconscious so, once they were tied to chairs in their respective rooms, I went to change into civilian clothes.

The room I shared with Dick was absolutely obliterated. Wood chunks splintered across the carpet by the window from the smashed table and chairs. Glass covered the space as well from the shattered window. And the bed was beaten into submission.

My feet carried me to my duffel bag on the vanity, but my eyes lingered on the mess in surprise and concern. It was not at all this much of a whirlwind mess when I'd left Dick as he'd said to do. Out of curiosity, I stepped away from the vanity to peer through the curtains.

Beyond the shattered glass, down below in the parking lot, the top of a car was cratered in. "Holy hell," I whispered, the words coming out without much thought.

"Yeah, that was me."

Dick's voice startled me, causing my body to twist quickly to look over my shoulder. I raised an eyebrow at him, "So, which one did you-"

"No, I mean _that_ was me— _I_ went through the window," Dick interrupted to correct me.

Both my eyes were widened by his statement, and I moved away from the window to take steps in his direction. "What the _fuck_ , Richard?" I questioned, concern taking over my tone. "You said you could handle it. They threw you out a _window_!"

Dick walked forward to meet me halfway, his palms sliding onto either side of my face. "Hey, calm down, okay? I'm fine," he spoke reassuringly, though I was not very reassured.

"You could've broken every bone in your fucking body."

"Well...I didn't."

He cocked his head, a grin forming on his lips, drawing satisfaction from using my own words on me. I knew exactly what he was telling me, it was in his eyes— _now you see how it feels_. The urge to slap the grin right from his face was almost overwhelming.

But it was easier to suppress when he started talking. That way I could focus on something other than that tempting but unforgivable urge. "I'm gonna go search their car, see what I can find," he said, retracting his hands.

"Alright. I'll get dressed and meet you out there."

"Bring your bag, okay?"

Though I was unsure of his reasoning, I agreed with a nod. He took one step forward and leaned down an inch, pressing his lips to the top of my head in a quick kiss, before exiting the motel room. With a sigh I dug through my duffel.

There was one last pair of jeans, the only suitable top being a long-sleeve i'd packed to fill space. I got dressed in the civilian clothes and packed my hood away in the bottom of my bag. Then I pulled on my coat, and carried the duffel bag on my shoulder to the parking lot.

Dick was standing behind the open driver's side door of the station wagon those four were driving, with Rachel and Gar stood a foot from the car. I walked up on the left and dropped my bag on the hood. It seemed I entered in the middle of an interesting conversation.

Gar was obviously trying to seem calm, but his excitement was spilling over. "So…Batman. You know him?" he asked, looking at Dick. The boy rocked on his heels with his hands in his pockets.

Rachel gave him a look, "Of course he knows Batman."

"Will we get to see him?" Gar let out a nervous laugh. "I'd _really_ like to meet Batman."

"No, you won't," Dick shook his head with a grin.

The thought crossed my mind—all I would have to do is give Wayne Manor a call and plead my case. Alfred would ensure Bruce played along. He'd probably convince him it would be like participating in Toys For Tots. It would be just like Alfred.

Though, I kept my mouth tightly shut. Just then, Kory walked up to us from the motel. "Any luck?" she inquired, most likely referring to the vehicle's contents.

"I'm gonna find out who's running this freak show," Dick answered. Then, after a quick glance, he tipped his head in my direction, "Well, _we_ are."

"I thought we weren't splitting up," Rachel pointed out.

"We're coming back," I said, surely, putting my hand on her arm. She turned her head to look at me, and I nodded confidently. "I'll always come back."

Rachel nodded a little, though she still was compelled to turn toward me fully, throwing her arms around me in a hug. "Promise?" she asked, light-heartedly, as she stepped back with a smile.

I smile back at her, closed-mouthed, "I promise."


	10. Tracker

_**WE PARKED IN THE GARAGE BESIDE THE BUILDING**_. The sun was now up, only just fully risen. It was hard to believe it'd taken hours to get here when it felt like minutes. Per previously discussed intention, I wore my knife sheath beneath my coat.

Dick lead the way through the glass front doors and I followed closely behind. The inside was clean and modern—not at all how you would expect a criminal organization to appear. Though, if they were going for a public-friendly appearance, they succeeded.

He tapped on the touch screen floor registry, looking through the list, but my eyes wandered to the right. In my peripheral I could see movement. When I turned my head to look, my eyes settled on an elderly woman, intently trimming a bonsai.

My forehead creased with the questions filling my mind. Dick's fingers interwove with mine, bringing my attention back to him—back to our mission—and he tipped his head in a gesture before starting to walk deeper into the lobby.

I followed, though I found myself continuing to stare at the old woman. There was not another soul on the first floor. It was incredibly odd. Dick pulled me along with him, his hand the only thing keeping me out of my head, to the elevator at the back of the room.

He reached out and pressed the level up button. The elevator began to hum, signaling its movement. A soft touch to the back of my shoulder sent a jolt through my body. I twisted quickly, eyes slightly widened, only to find the old woman.

She smiled brightly, holding out her hand, "Butterscotch?"

In her palm was a small candy with a yellow wrapping. Every voice of reason and wisdom within me told me not to touch it. But something about the old woman kept my attention. Carefully, as not to touch her, I reached out and took the candy.

"Thank you," I nodded once, with a polite smile.

"You're very welcome, dear."

The woman turned and walked toward the front of the lobby. I turned to face the elevator, eyeing the yellow in my palm. "I hope you're not actually going to eat that," Dick commented, as the elevator chimed, its silver doors sliding open.

We stepped inside the small box and I reached out to press the button for the highest floor. "No, but I wasn't about to offend an old woman," I replied, standing back as the doors whispered shut.

Dick huffed an airy chuckle, "You literally almost murdered someone a couple hours ago."

"That bitch deserved it."

"That's beside the point."

"I know, I know. Killing isn't the answer. Even though they put our friend in the hospital and beat the shit out of the rest of us," I shrugged lightly, sliding my hands into my coat pockets as the elevator ascended. "I should _definitely_ let her walk free."

"We needed her for information," Dick sighed.

"Could've gotten plenty of it from the other three."

With those words I could feel Dick's eyes on me. His heated stare radiated disbelief and confusion, with a light shade of exasperation. "You're unbelievable," he mumbled, as I felt him turn away.

It made my bones ache, the very idea of letting someone go whom genuinely deserved a fate worse than death. Whatever was inside me did not like it in the slightest and it held no problem in letting me know just how displeased it was.

I didn't bother trying to continue conversing on this topic. Instead I tried focusing on the vibrations of nearing bodies as the elevator car arrived at our chosen destination. The door was glass at the top, along with most of the elevator.

Dick opened the glass door and took cautious steps through. I, however, felt no reservations in simply walking into the glass box of an apartment we'd arrived at, unhindered. There was a singular set of vibrations that lead my way.

Further into the apartment and to the left, toward a flight of stairs leading downward into a bit of darkness. As I reached the top of the stairs, I felt Dick's hand latch onto my wrist before he stepped up beside me, into my view.

"Hold on—it could be a trap," Dick said, hushed in tone.

I gave a shake of my head, "There's one man down there. He's in possession of no weapons—unless you count a bottle of champagne."

We'd been through these scenarios many times over. Yet Dick always seemed to remain firm in his inability to trust that I knew what I was doing. Though, this time, Dick simply nodded once and took a step back, allowing me to continue.

It was unexpected, but welcomed. I started down the stairs, Dick just behind me, at the sound of a hollow pop. Whomever it was down in the lower level had just opened his bottle of champagne. Quite the odd choice of beverage for this scenario.

Making a mental note of it, I reached the bottom of the stairs, and walked straight into an open kitchen area. Every aspect of the room's design and decoration was nauseatingly modern. Almost everything looked to be made of glass.

At least, everything that could be. Almost as though if you touched anything, anything at all, it would break. And at the same time, there were elements that held a distinctly classical appearance. The combination clashed in a way that grated against my nerves.

A quiet sizzle came from a pan on a cook top situated in the island, where a man with white hair stood, wearing a grey three piece suit. Dr. Adamson, I knew. He turned his head in our direction the second we entered the room.

The way he smiled so calmly was an unnerving sight. "Ah. Miss Syren, Detective Grayson," he spoke, acknowledging our approach before turning back to face the island.

My feet halted my body at the edge of the island, two feet from him, and Dick stepped up to stand beside me. I felt an insatiable urge to surge forward and wrap my fingers around his throat. But instead, I stayed still, clenching my hands into fists at my sides to stay that way.

"How the _fuck_ do you know that name?" I questioned, jaw clenched in apprehension.

"Well, you aren't much different with brown hair, are you?" Adamson replied, with a sickening smile. "Are you hungry? I've got something on the stove. You're not a vegetarian, are you? I do prefer an animal-based protein."

Dick spoke up then, "Who are you people, and what do you want with Rachel?"

"As much as I'd love to have a lengthy conversation with you about Rachel Roth, Detective, I'm afraid there's no time," Dr. Adamson said, exhaling as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the island. "You found me. I've been exposed. So the organization is sending people to kill us. We have one minute."

He looked over his shoulder at the clock, ticking away where it was hung on the wall, positioned between two floor-to-wall windows at his left. "Does this organization work for Rachel's father? Is he still after her?" Dick questioned him.

"You could say that, yes," Adamson said, after taking a sip of his champagne. He set the glass on the counter and paused, eyes lingering on the stove top. "Oh dear. My crepes are burning."

I could feel the agitation rising within Dick. This man was trying both our patients. But he seemed to be feeling it more than I was. My eyes shifted in his direction, and he returned my glance, sighing heavily through his nostrils.

This man was not giving us anything at all. And that, it seemed, was the point. He was going to draw out this last minute as long as he possibly could with the least information given possible. Dick tipped his head in Adamson's direction in a gesture.

It was a silent sign of permission. Permission to do what I'd wanted to do the second that man said my name. Without hesitation or second thought, I lunged at Adamson.

My hands gripped tightly to his arm, twisting it as I forcefully turned him toward the island and shoved him against it, pinning the arm against his back. He sucked in a sharp breath with a small sound of pain. Dick moved to stand on Adamson's right side.

"If you don't start giving us some answers, i'm gonna let her stick your face in it," he threatened the man, angered and exasperated.

"We have ten seconds-" Adamson groaned. "-before the final answers come for all of us."

His cryptic and vague answers were beginning to grate on my nerves harder than the clash of room design. I tightened my grip, bending his arm harder, "What do you want with Rachel?"

"Five, four, three..." Dr. Adamson counted aloud.

Rage boiled within me almost enough to render me blind. Emotionally blind, that is. I could feel them getting rapidly closer as he counted—a dozen men in full tactical gear on the upper level of the apartment. They were, in fact, coming.

Dick opened his mouth to speak, but I interrupted. " _Fuck_ this," I spat out the words, before letting go of Adamson. Though, I released him only for a second. Then I kicked the back of his knee, dropping him enough, and slammed his forehead against the side of the island.

It did not kill him. It simply rendered him unconscious. The doctor fell over on the clean tile and my hands immediately went to my knives. Just as my fingers tightened around the first handle, my chest tightened, the hair at the nape of my neck standing at attention.

In a reflexive moment of pure instinct I freed a knife, one at a time, and sent them across the room to my left with a quick flick of my wrist. One knife sunk into each virtually unprotected shoulder of the only two men on our level at the time.

The rest of the men were quickly following, rushing down the steps with assault rifles. Though, the two already here were only wounded. They were still on their feet. I rushed toward them and sent my heel into the middle of one.

He was shoved back, slamming into the wall, before hitting the ground. Then, I yanked my knife from the shoulder of the other and sent it into a different location—sinking the silver blade deep into his chest, through the pitiful vest he wore.

After I pulled the knife out a second time, he dropped to the tile in a splash of blood droplets. The others all came in seemingly at once. Some stopped for me and some continued on to attack Dick, still near the island.

There were many. Though, I was not intimidated. I sunk the bloodied knife I held into the neck of a man, leaving it with him as I shoved him away, into the corner of the island.

My hands gripped the top of a gun and gave it a hard pull, tugging it from the man's hands, and I slammed the front of my shoe into his groin before sending the butt of the gun into the side of his head. He twisted to the right and dropped, only opening up a line of attack for the others.

I shuffled back a few steps to not only miss a swing, but to give myself more room to swing my own weapon, while simultaneously reaching for another knife. Although I succeeded in gaining a knife, my slashing with the gun was not successful.

One managed to hit the center of my face with the butt of his gun, causing my vision to blur momentarily as I took a dizzying stagger backward. The hit knocked me off balance.

I held up my arms to block his gun from continuing to do harm, no doubt leaving a plethora of bruises against my forearms, and moved backward more quickly to gain ground. It was a quick surge behind. Then I was able to lift my head and not worry of being hit again.

Not when there was three feet between us. Dropping the gun in my hands, allowing it to clatter to the tile, I focused on my knives—pulling yet another from my sheath to complete the set. The man came at me, raising his gun to swing.

As he did, I dropped to my knees and plunged a knife into his abdomen, then slashed at his ankles before standing. He toppled backward and another came at me from the left. At the same time it felt as though something physically gripped my heart in my chest.

Whatever it was clamped down tight, restricting its beating, and I felt a pulsing ache in my temples. It started there. But other pangs of ache hit various areas all over my body. I didn't need to feel any specific vibrations to know—it was Dick.

In a moment of sharp pain shooting into my chest, I paused with a grimace, giving the one charging at me time to do his worst. Something hard was slammed roughly into the left side of my abdomen and the force of it physically pushed me away.

Dizzyingly, I staggered backward in quick steps, trying and failing to regain the balance i'd suddenly lost, until my back hit the wall beneath the clock—the back of my head rapidly following. A sharp burning exploded in the center of my mind and I cried out.

It was then that my ears filled with a popping sound, followed by a distinct hissing as canisters rolling into the room spewed a white cloud that filled the space. The distraction gave me a moment to search for Dick with my eyes, unable to move the rest of me.

He was on the floor in front of the island, being beaten into the tiling by four men in black gear. Out of what appeared to be nowhere in my damaged state, a figure danced through the white cloud toward the men from behind.

It was distinctly male, though not much else could be determined. A second figure soon joined—this one, very female. The men in black stopped beating Dick to turn at the sudden sound approaching, but they were just in time to be brutally beaten themselves.

The two figures made quick work of the men with guns. Though, as they did, the white cloud was quick to begin dissipating, allowing for much more visibility. A blonde head of hair alerted me to the female figure first.

She was swift and precise, every movement appearing as a careful calculation. Yet still she fought in sync with the other figure. I squinted through the remainder of the smoke to focus on her appearance, but I didn't need to for more than a second.

Her vibrations, her warmth, the familiarity to it all was too much not to recognize for what it truly was. Despite the throbbing beginning in my lower back and the pulsating ache inside my skull, I felt my eyes begin to well up for an entirely different reason.

I knew her. I knew this woman. I'd known her since she was shorter that the height of my waist. In less than two minutes, the pair had all of the men in black unconscious and out of the way. The last of the smoke was clearing as well.

"Patricia?" I questioned, finding my mouth drier than I remembered it being before.

The blonde was frozen in her position of having just rendered a man unconscious in an intricate display of skill. She aimed her puzzled irises at me, narrowing the baby blues through her black mask. It was only for a moment. That was all it took.

A sudden realization relaxed her features, causing her eyes to widen in shock. "Savannah?" she questioned, bewildered. "Oh my god! It's you!"

Patricia was gasping, immediately moving toward me. I pushed myself from the wall and sped toward her, colliding with her thin frame, and our arms became a mess of limbs trying to put them around each other so quickly.

"Holy shit, Patricia. What are you doing in a suit?" I asked, concern and confusion taking over my voice as I pulled away from her. "What are you doing _here_?"

Out of my peripheral I caught movement, causing me to turn my head to the right suddenly. The male figure was now clearly visible, giving Dick a hand up to his feet. I couldn't help the immediate disdain coloring my features the moment I recognized him.

It was Jason. The second figure was Jason, dressed in a Robin suit a bit similar to Dick's. He wore the same cocky, smug expression he had when I'd met him in Gotham with Bruce. "Hey, babe," he smirked at me. "You miss me?"

Irritation, exasperation, and my unsatisfied craving for spilled blood only added fuel to the fire of my petty and enraged consciousness. I lunged in his direction. My muscles acted on their own, guided by the heat in my blood.

Dick threw his arms around me, tightening them as he gave a pull, keeping me from getting any closer to Jason. "Hey- hey! Anna, no," Dick said, keeping me tight against his chest. My own chest was heaving, working harder to compensate for my lungs' overuse.

I was all but seething, my knuckles turning white where I gripped the sleeves of Dick's jacket to keep myself at bay. "You two know each other?" Patricia was puzzled once again, though this time she was also slightly angered—reasonably so.

"Yeah, we bumped into each other back in Gotham a few days ago. Right, _Beverly_?" Jason stared right at me, seemingly enjoying the look of what he'd caused.

"Anna, what the fuck is he talking about?" Dick questioned, looking to me for answers. "When the hell were you in Gotham?"

"Okay, why don't we talk about this in a little bit? Right now, we need to get the fuck outta here before more of these assholes show up," Patricia spoke up then.

Interrupting the line of questioning, she stood with her chin up and shoulders squared, taking on a leader-esque tone and position. It was as though she'd made the final decision without anyone else needing to agree.

She simply stated it, and all complied. "I'm not going to kill him," I grumbled in irritation, pulling from Dick's arms. He let me go, though he kept an eye on me as I moved, most likely to make sure I would not double back on those words.

I stepped around him, moving to the far end of the island, and knelt beside the unconscious body of Dr. Adamson. He was not dead. He was not overtly injured. The man was in perfect condition to bring him along. "We need to take him," I said, to no one in particular.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Dick agreed, walking around me.

He moved to Adamson's legs and wrapped his arms around them, before hefting them up in order to drag him. "Lemme help you with that, man," Jason said, quickly moving to get one of Adamson's legs.

I stood and stepped back, giving room for both of the males to carry the doctor out. Though, I knew Dick could do it just fine on his own. He exhaled through his nostrils a huff of mild annoyance as he and Jason dragged the unconscious man past me toward the stairs.

The building appeared to have been evacuated of any inhabitants possible as we made our way to the parking garage, where we'd parked the station wagon when we first arrived. Patricia and I followed behind Dick and Jason as they dragged Adamson along.

She had many questions, but they truly started coming out once we entered the garage. The station wagon was in sight, a handful of yards away, when she said, "You look different. The brown is kinda weird to see on you."

"It's a change," I nodded, with a closed mouth smile.

"Why didn't you call?" she asked, her tone purely of curiosity. Though, I could feel the hurt radiating off her from that one question alone. "Or write? Visit? Send a carrier pigeon-?"

"There was so much happening when I escaped Arkham...I couldn't get you involved. Patricia, you were so young. The best thing I could do was leave you believing I'd disappeared. It was less hurtful."

Her eyebrows popped on her forehead, " _Less_ hurtful?"

"I don't expect you to understand what I'm saying-"

"No, I _get_ it. I don't _agree_. The least you could've done was send me a letter after a while letting me know you were okay," Patricia said, as we arrived at the car.

Dick and Jason dropped Adamson's legs and turned to face Patricia and I. Though, Patricia was only looking at me, turned in her stance to face me. Then, in a snap, she turned to face Dick. "And what about you, you asshole?" she questioned, accusingly. "You knew this whole time where she was, didn't you?"

He sighed, but nodded, "Yeah...I did."

" _Fuck_ you, Dick."

She stared at him with a heated gaze, unwavering in her words. Dick stared back at her in surprise, obviously caught off guard by her harsh words, though also appearing understanding. My shoulders dropped as I exhaled, "Patricia, please. I'm _sorry_."

"Let's get our clothes, Jason," Patricia looked to Jason, pointedly ignoring me.

Patricia turned and began walking back toward the garage exit where we'd come from, and Jason hurried around us to follow her without question. Dick leaned back against the end of the vehicle and I pinched the bridge of my nose.

This was not a situation I was prepared to be in, and it was only made worse by the throbbing in my skull. "You okay?" Dick asked, gently. I lifted my head as I gave it a shake, letting my hands fall to my sides.

"I just need a minute. Are _you_ okay?" my brows knitted as my eyes raked over his face, the purple growing on his left cheek. They came to stop on the red smear from his nose. Fresh blood was easing its way out through his nostrils. "You're bleeding."

I didn't hesitate to step forward, closing the space, and reach up with the sleeve of my coat to stop the bleeding. My right wrist stayed at his nose while my left hand rested against the base of his skull, holding him still. Dick huffed a chuckle, "Thanks, mom."

"If you had a mirror, you would see what I'm worried about.

"Anna, it's just a bloody nose—how many of those have I had in my lifetime?"

"Too many," I answered, pulling back my sleeve to see if the blood had stopped. "Did you know Patricia was working with Bruce?"

"Did you know that Jason kid was my replacement?"

His tone was rhetorical, expression one of mild irritation. It was a reasonable response. This was the second thing to come up that Dick didn't know about—yet I did. Though, I hadn't kept it from him. I simply did not bring it up.

That was not the world's best reasoning, but Dick had used it on me countless times and claimed it to be acceptable. Exhaling through my nostrils a light sigh, I placed my hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look me dead on.

Dick's brown irises softened when they met mine, causing him to exhale. "I'm sorry I didn't mention it to you," I voiced my words gently, quietly. "I'd gone and returned, and by the time we fixed things it had slipped my mind."

"And what about working with Victor?" he inquired, less irritated now.

I shrugged lightly, tilting my head, "I don't have a good reason for that—other than wanting to keep you out of it all."

"Your dad wants you dead and you're worried about keeping _me_ safe."

He huffed a chuckle, shaking his head at me. If he'd seen the things I had seen in my lifetime, he would understand why. Though, there was no possible way he could unless he did. So I did not comment on it.

We'd waited only a few minutes for Jason and Patricia to return. The four of us loaded into the vehicle—Dick and I in front, Patricia and Jason in the back row—with Adamson's unconscious body in the trunk area. There was no pre-agreed upon plan moving forward.

It was simply acting on whatever idea suited us from moment to moment. Sitting in the car, I thought back on what Adamson had said. Specifically, my name. His organization works for Rachel's father and, logically, if Adamson knows so does Rachel's father.

Most likely that would come back to bite me in some way. For a moment I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander toward Rachel. I wasn't sure just how far our connection remained so I was pleasantly surprised to find out it was strong at this mileage.

There was nothing to see. But I could feel the faint vibrations of her being just clear enough to read them. She was alright. Obviously humored by something—most likely one of Gar's ridiculous jokes.

A rapid turn of the vehicle bumped me out of my thoughts, bringing my mind back to the people around me. We'd turned a corner onto a less crowded street, still driving with no official direction. But Dick and Jason were having a conversation.

I had missed most of whatever had been said when I joined it. Though, I did my best to follow along. "I was out boosting cars. Guess I chose the wrong one," Jason chuckled from the back. "Or the right one."

"You tried to steal the Batmobile?" Dick questioned, eyebrows risen.

"Nah, man. Just the hubcaps," Jason replied.

"So now Bruce wants to harbor criminals," I commented, relaxing into my seat. "How convenient I don't live in Gotham anymore."

Patricia scoffed, "He's not a criminal."

"Sounds like he used to be," Dick eyed her in the rear view mirror.

This, of course, caused her to roll her eyes as she looked away. "Hey, so was your girlfriend, man," Jason piped up, spitefully in good spirits. "What was it... _fourteen_ confirmed murders? Probably a lot more since you left Gotham, right?"

I sat silently in my seat, eyes forward, unflinching. But I could feel Dick's sporadic glances. He was obviously trying to figure out if I would respond. If I was going to defend myself. If I wasn't, he would. He always did.

Inhaling sharply, I replied callously, "And exactly how many has Bruce let both of you get away with? Hm? This is a pointless dispute. Put your dick back in your pants and stop talking before I inflate my kill count."

For emphasis i'd pulled out one of my knives and stabbed it into the dashboard. The action caused a somewhat loud thwump. Dick startled in his chair, glancing quickly between me, the knife, and the road. "Jesus, Savannah," he hissed, under his breath.

"How did you two find us?" I questioned, twisting to see Patricia and Jason in the back seat. "It's not like we carry a Bat signal around."

"Uh, the tracker," Jason answered, as though it should be obvious.

Patricia's features hardened, and she immediately turned to him with a smack of her hand against his arm. "Jay, what the hell?"

"What tracker?" I asked, now mostly looking at Patricia. I wouldn't have put it past Bruce to try it, though it made me wonder why he'd bother asking about Dick when I talked to him if he already knew. With the following seconds of silence, I pressed for an answer, "Patricia, what did Bruce do?"

I asked it forcefully, demanding, as a rising worry accompanied my suspicion. Finally, Patricia spoke up. "It's in Dick's arm," she said, exhaling sharply. My eyebrows rose quickly on my forehead in reaction.

"There's a _fucking_ tracker in my arm?" Dick questioned, rhetorical with the presence of anger in his tone.

Jason asked then, "Don't you remember when he put it in?"

The warm waves of tamped down rage covered me in their current as I sat back in my seat. I looked to Dick, but I didn't have to in order to know. He was furious. He had every right to be. Obviously Patricia had prior knowledge of this information.

Why Dick didn't, I had no idea. How does one's arm receive an implanted tracker and remain unaware? Did Bruce do it while he slept? Either way it was looked it, this revelation was morbid.

Dick clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nostrils before answering, "No."

"We need a plan," I reminded, gently prodding the conversation in another direction. "Adamson will talk now that he can't hide behind a death squad. We just need somewhere to put him."

"Can I make a suggestion?" Jason thrusted himself up to lean between the seats suddenly.

Sighing heavily, I looked down at him, "If it's a useful one."

"The safe house isn't far from here," he said, as he glanced to Dick. "It's perfect."

My eyes shift from Jason to Dick in a straight line. He didn't look to be excited by the suggestion, and I could understand why. I understood a little too well. Dick sighed, keeping his eyes on the road, "Anna?"

"I'm sure Bruce won't mind if we bloody his floors," I answered, as I shrugged one shoulder.

"Alright then. We're going to the safe house."

He turned the wheel, moving us onto a different street. Jason sunk back into the back row and I resumed my previous position, sunk against the back of my chair. It wasn't the first time Dick and I borrowed one of Bruce's safe houses.

The term _borrowed_ is, of course, used very loosely. Thinking of those times brought me many other memories that hadn't been in the forefront of my mind in a long time. When i'd earned such memories they were horrific. Now, looking back, they meant nothing.

* * *

 **GOTHAM CITY  
13 YEARS AGO**

I sat atop my comforter, legs folded up to my chest, wiping my tears when a knock sounded on the door. When my father left for the office, I'd told him not to come home until he was done. There was no need to be interrupted for my silly feelings from a night terror.

So the sound of the knock brought a slight annoyance, but the sobbing i'd recently experienced tamped it down with sadness. "Come in," I called in response.

The door creaked open as I finished drying up my cheeks with a tissue. To my surprise, Dick poked his head in. "Anna? Are you okay?" he tentatively asked, slowly opening the door fully.

I shook my head, uninterested in lies, "No. Not at all."

"What's wrong?"

Adding more surprise, Barbara entered my bedroom the second the door was just open enough for her to squeeze through. "It's the nightmare, isn't it?" she asked, rhetorically, with a bit of sympathy.

She walked to the side of the bed and hopped onto the mattress, positioning herself a few inches from me. I nodded and she empathetically rubbed my upper arm with her hand. Dick's features read confusion as he, too, came to sit on the bed.

He climbed on and sat across from Barbara. "Wait, a nightmare?" he questioned. "What did I miss?"

"I'm sorry, I misspoke. Night _terror_ ," Barbara corrected herself.

"It was last night. I just...I can't stop thinking about it," I further explained, mostly for Dick's sake. I'd said everything already to Barbara over text messages earlier in the morning. He was the only one in my immediate circle that had no idea what had happened.

Without going into too much detail, I recounted what happened out loud for the two to hear. I couldn't say much of the woman I saw. Only that she was obviously dead and gruesome in sight. Anything more and I would've broken down again.

Dick's eyebrows were lowered, taking in what I'd said when I finished, "Wow...I'm so sorry."

"Is there anything we can do?" Barbara asked me, gently.

"Thank you, but I don't think so," I shook my head sadly. "It just needs to work through my system."

"Would Red Vines and a rom-com help speed it along?" Barbara questioned, insinuatively, as she pulled open her back pack to show a tantalizing cache of red licorice.

The corners of my lips threatened an upward turn, making my attempt at a smile mopey. "It might," I replied, thankful for the suggestion.

Barbara slid off the bed, leaving her back pack in her place, "I'll go pick out a good one from the family room. Make sure she doesn't ghost away."

She disappeared through my open bedroom door. Seeing it hang open, I could only bring back the fresh memories from last night's venture. A trip I never should've taken. Quickly, I averted my eyes, instead focusing them on my knees.

My arms were wrapped around my legs to keep them to my chest, my fingers tugging at the seam in the side of my jeans. "Hey," Dick's voice pulled my eyes upward, just as he changed his position. He crawled forward the foot necessary to sit beside me, our shoulders touching. "I'm still here. You don't have to be afraid."

Again, a corner of my lips desperately tried to curve up, "I know."

He adjusted to lift his arm over my head, resting it across my shoulders, and I dared to let myself relax just enough to lean into his side. The warmth was comforting. It was reassuring. A small edge of anxiety was taken off.

When Barbara returned, she leapt back onto the bed and displayed her movie choices. I'd decided on one and she pulled out her laptop. She came to sit beside me, opposite Dick, and rested her head on my shoulder as the movie began to play on the laptop screen.

That night I was afraid to turn out the lights. Dick and Barbara had stayed with me as long as they could. Barbara had to go in the early evening with her father, Commissioner Gordon, coming to pick her up. Dick received several phone calls from Bruce Wayne.

He'd only needed to answer it once. I could hear the slightly concerned and somewhat stern voice on the other end, but not enough to make out any words. In the end, Dick hung up the phone and told me he would be leaving as soon as Alfred came to get him.

It troubled me greatly, the idea of being alone. It had to have been visible on me, because Dick sat beside me again and wrapped his arm around me tightly, quick to reassure me. "It won't happen again," he told me. "Last night was a fluke."

"You can't be sure," I looked up at him with watered eyes.

He exhaled, "No, I can't. But the second you start to feel something—call me. I'll come over."

"Bruce would let you do that?"

"I won't ask."

"I don't want you to get in trouble just because i'm being silly," I said, shaking my head with guilt.

Dick turned more toward me, angling himself to better see my face while still keeping his arm around me. "Anna, you're not being silly. I can see it right now—you're terrified," he replied, seriously.

Daddy knocked at the partially open bedroom door then, gaining our attentions. I knew he was there to say it was time for Dick to leave before he'd even spoken. It had felt like the people in the movies as they see a Police Officer, and they know they're about to get bad news.

"Mr. Grayson, your butler is being incredibly persistent. I'm afraid it's time to head out," Daddy said, quite pleasant for an otherwise unpleasant situation.

"Do you really have to leave?" I'd whispered, looking only at Dick.

There was a guilty sadness shimmering in his eyes as he stood upright from climbing off my bed. "You'll be okay," he assured me, confidently. "Just remember what I told you."

An anxiousness in my chest almost brought a tear to my eye, simply from the mere thought of spending a second alone. It was a restless and helpless feeling. Dick exited the room with one final glance of confidence in my direction.

Daddy took steps toward the bed, coming to sit on the end of it. His eyes looked me over with his features pulled into an expression of concern. "What are you feeling?" he asked, tentatively.

"Fear," I answered, honestly. "I don't want to see it again, Daddy. I don't."

A few small, warm tears rolled down my cheeks as I slowly shook my head. My father looked just as helpless as I felt. Finally, he said, "I know last night wasn't easy. But you have to be strong. If it happens again, we know we have a problem. If it doesn't, we know there's nothing to worry about."

"But I have to sleep for that to work."

"Exactly. Come on, Savannah. This has nothing on you. You can do this easily," he said, speaking lightheartedly with a tone meant for motivation.

I took a deep breath, tightening my arms around my legs, "I'll turn out the light when I'm ready to sleep."

"That's my girl. I promise you—come tomorrow morning, you'll realize it was a one-time thing and everything's going to be fine," he smiled confidently at me.

He came to the side of the bed and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of my head. Then he turned to leave and disappeared through the bedroom door, pulling it closed as he went.

I removed the socks from my feet and crawled beneath the comforter, snuggling into my pillow and bed sheet, desperate for a false sense of safety. My cell phone remained in bed with me all night, my fingers wrapped around it in case of emergency.

* * *

 **CHICAGO, ILLINOIS  
NOW**

I followed behind the others as we made our way to the elevator in the garage. Bruce's idea of a safe house was a tower impossible to hide in. The walls I'd seen were predominately made of glass. It made me question just what exactly was safe about this building.

All three of the others I was traveling with seemed right at home, whereas I had no idea what to expect. Yes, i'd been inside Wayne Manor a few times. But I was never allowed anywhere else.

Dick attempted the retinal scanner beside the elevator door. It flashed red, as I'd quietly anticipated. With how the situation was left between Dick and Bruce it wouldn't surprise me if he'd been removed from the will. "I got it," Patricia spoke up, moving to take Dick's place as he stepped away from the scanner.

He turned with a heavy sigh and came to stand beside me, a foot or two back from it all. Patricia stepped up to the scanner and the device on the wall flashed green. I couldn't overlook the prideful smirk on Jason's face as he watched her.

Did that child know any other expression? Spitefully, I doubted it. Patricia stepped inside the now opened elevator, Jason right behind, and Dick and I followed in after them. It was a tight space. As the doors closed, I pressed my left shoulder into the side wall to make room.

The metal box allowed for only a small amount of wiggling before there was no moving to be done at all. My duffel, hanging off my shoulder, was pressed between my hip and the wall. Patricia stood in front of Jason, her back against the other side wall.

Her arms folded over her chest tightly, she scowled at the flooring—the body language a piercing scream in the silence of the elevator. It was understandable, her reaction. At the time I made the decision to remain away from her I was another person.

It felt as though I were someone else in those times. With all the drugs from Arkham still tainting my veins, I might as well have been. But it didn't stop the guilt in my stomach. It hurt her. I suspected it would. Though, the blow was in fact lesser this way.

Patricia was too young to understand still. That is okay. She does not need to understand as much as she needs to live with it. And I was confident she was capable of that. A shift in presence at my side drew my eyes downward and to the right.

Dick sidestepped to angle himself in my direction, lowering his voice as he spoke to me, "Once we get Adamson inside, i'll take the lead on questioning him."

"Why?" I questioned, raising a brow.

"We need him alive to question him," Dick answered, vaguely as though it should be obvious. "He can't answer what we ask if he's-"

"The bastard deserves to die but I won't kill him unless I need to."

"Anna, just let me handle it. Please."

I stared at him a moment. When we were in Adamson's apartment-like office, it seemed to me that Dick was finally trusting me to know what I was doing. Now it looked like a step back. But I bit my tongue, nodding once as I averted my eyes.

There was no point arguing about it. This would require a lot of taking what I could get. The second the elevator doors slid open, Patricia pushed off the wall and marched out. Jason casually left the elevator, taking the role of the unaffected one.

Dick sighed heavily as he eyed the behavior and stepped out after them. Walking into the main area of the safe house, I confirmed my suspicion that most of the building was made of glass. Because, in fact, it was.

"I'll go back and get Adamson," Dick announced, stepping into the main area only to hand me his Robin case. I took the case without complaint. It was not hard to see he needed a moment alone.

Once I had the case, he turned and went back to the elevator. I put it on a table at the far right of the room. "Cool. I'm gonna check out the brew sitch," Jason said, as he crossed the room to head for the kitchen.

Patricia got up from the couch in the living room and marched after him, "Jason, we talked about this-"

"Yeah, yeah—no drinking on mission, blah blah blah," he grumbled, his voice losing volume as he disappeared into the kitchen.

She followed in after him and their quiet voices mixed into one blur of voice as they began to heatedly discuss the topic of drinking. Jason looked no older than eighteen. There was no way Bruce approved of him consuming alcohol.

Of course, I'd thought there was no way Bruce could approve of putting a tracker in Dick without his knowledge. People we don't truly know never cease to surprise us—and drastically disappoint us.


End file.
